


Damian and Tim: A Time Travel Romance

by alicecrow6, IcedAquarius



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: All the good moms here, Also another kind of switching, BAMF Damian Wayne, BAMF Stephanie Brown, BAMF Tim Drake, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, F/F, F/M, Good Parent Janet Drake, Good Parent Talia al Ghul, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Good parent Jade Nguyen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stephanie Brown Needs a Hug, Talia al Ghul is Not a Rapist, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Time Travel, but not yet, switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27121741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicecrow6/pseuds/alicecrow6, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcedAquarius/pseuds/IcedAquarius
Summary: Tim and Damian time travel to stop the apocalypse; they overshoot a little. Tim monitors the situation with the bats, saving Jason along the way.Meanwhile, Damian starts a hostile takeover of the League of Assassins at the physical age of 5.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Rose Wilson, Damian Wayne & Rose Wilson & Jade Nguyen & Cassandra Cain, Jade Nguyen & Damian Wayne, Jade Nguyen & Damian Wayne & Rose Wilson, Jade Nguyen/Rose Wilson, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne, Talia al Ghul/Sandra Woosan, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Lex Luthor, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 321
Kudos: 842





	1. Chapter 1

“How the hell did I fuck this up so badly?” Tim asks aloud, panicking at the appearance of his significantly younger body. It was supposed to be a simple 12-hour reset, not a 12-year reset.

Tim rises, taking care to not put too much pressure on thin shaky legs, and makes his way to the calendar hanging over his desk.

Checking the date confirmed what he already knew, he was physically 12 now.

Lovely.

Tim rubs a small, non-callused hand against his forehead, reveling at the smooth sensation beneath his fingers. At least Damian wasn’t here to utterly destroy him for his mistake.

Damn it! Damian! He forgot about Damian!

* * *

“Fucking Drake,” Damian hisses from a fair few countries, and an ocean, away, struggling to adjust to his shorter limbs.

* * *

Tim lets out a tired sigh. Whatever, they’d cross that bridge when they arrived at it. The brat would find a way to contact him eventually. If Tim interferes he could blow the young boy’s cover. 

Tim wonders if he could track the kid down while out on a mission away from the League. Damian always boasted about his status as one of the best Assassins in the League.

He groans. What will the brat do stuck in the clutches of the League? What will he do with the expectation to kill, the expectation to act as an actual Assassin? He can’t refuse to kill people because he grew morals out of “nowhere.”

(Tim’s mind conjures a cursed image of Dick watering a plant-shaped Damian and watching in horror as it erupts into flowers.)

 _‘Thank you brain,_ ’ he thinks. _'That’s a lovely image. Now I want to gouge my eyes out.’_

Tim shakes his head, clearing the unnecessary thoughts. He needs to focus on the topic of Damian stuck in the League, and forced to survive as an assassin.

Will he... will he come back even more fucked up?

Tim suppresses a shiver and shelves the thought for later.

Tim takes a few minutes to refamiliarize himself with his old room and current base of operations. His memories construct a cold, empty shell of a building, decorated and arranged to a magazine spread perfection. 

His parents didn’t care for unneeded decoration or adornments. Everything Tim truly cares about is tucked in boxes and closets and stashed under his bed. He runs his fingers over the bed, glad he still has silk sheets; the fabric calmingly familiar between his young and sensitive fingers, but heartbroken that his weighted blanket, a gift from Alfred, is lost to time. 

He lingers a bit longer before deciding to brave the world outside his room. Despite his earlier shakiness, his body stutters along well enough, regardless of the disconnect between where his brain thought his limbs should go and where he could actually put them. Fighting, he already knew, would be a whole other story.

He would need total control of all his limbs and their capabilities if he ever wishes to return to his former competence.

Tim spends the rest of the afternoon re-introducing himself to his old home. The large mansion appears as empty and hollow as Tim’s memories suggest. The dust was thicker around the house than he remembers. But that was to be expected, he supposes. If he remembers his timeline correctly (and it was rare if he didn’t), this was a brief period where his housekeeper was on vacation.

A bummer for little Tim but an opportunity with great potential for big Tim.

He sits at the large formal dining table and takes a sip of orange juice (unfortunately the kitchen lacked any trace of coffee). The tangy prickle of the juice on his tongue is a welcome distraction to the panic building in the back of his brain. Before him a spread of newspapers and documents from his parents’ study. If Tim plans to live in the past again he wants to remain well informed. He picks up a blank sheet of paper and a gold fountain pen. 

A list. He needs a to-do list.

Number one and two were easy

  1. Don't let Jason Todd die
  2. Regain prior mobility and skill



He pauses, thinking about what was absolutely necessary for him to succeed here? 

  1. Contact Damian
  2. Contact Batman (but don't tell him about the future?)
  3. And most importantly, get a laptop.



He nearly facepalms while writing his list, scratching in a new priority number five.

  1. Stop the Joker from shooting Barbara 



~~5.~~ 6\. And most importantly, get a laptop.

If Barbara ever discovers he almost forgot about her she would skin him.

He takes a small sip of his orange juice. There was an obvious way to save both Jason and Barbara, but it involved a bit of murder. An action, even after all the shit he dealt with, he still wasn't entirely okay with doing. Years of Bruce’s lessons firmly imprinted in his mind, staying his hand.

Maybe he could just trap the mad clown in a cage for a few years?

Tim barks out a harsh laugh, the sound popping against his ears, a direct contrast to the eerily silence of the house. The visual representation of the idea was hysterical.

A thought for another day, Tim assures himself. Jason dies and Barbara ends up shot weeks after Tim turns 13. There is still time.

An ache thrums at the base of his neck and creeps higher into his head. Tim’s lips curl in disgust.

God, his plan was for a 12-hour reset, not this bullshit. This sucked balls.

Tim lets out a breath, taking another sip of his orange juice. He places the empty glass down with a satisfying clink.

He needs a damn laptop.

* * *

Damian turns to his mother, then his grandfather, then back to his mother. Then to the woman on the floor with the swords pointing perilously at her neck.

Were they... were they serious?

God, he knows he’ll regret doing this but if he doesn’t try he will return to his room and Dick’s disappointed face will haunt him. That was a punishment he wished on no one, least of all himself.

He clears his throat. “On what grounds?” Damian finally asks, coming to terms with the absolute stupidity of his actions. When Drake finds out, and of course Drake would find out, he’ll pitch a fit at Damian’s recklessness.

Damian refuses to acknowledge his words contain a slight lisp. It was the most irritating aspect of this situation and he didn't know if that said more about him or about his surroundings. Damian decides to train it out of himself before meeting back up with Drake.

Drake, the asshole, could never know.

“Excuse me?” his mother asks, barely keeping a lid on her bafflement. Damian didn't blame her for her brief slip, he could barely keep his own surprise in check.

“On what grounds do you order her execution? What is her crime?” Damian wants to pinch his nose, a headache creeping into his skull. 

“That's not important,” his grandfather interrupts, sitting on his cushioned throne. Damian raises an eyebrow.

“Au contraire, it is of the utmost importance. How else will your subjects know you are not an unreasonable tyrant?” Damian asks in his most humble voice.

“You dare insult me, grandson?” Apparently, Ra’s didn't buy it. Unfortunate.

“Of course not grandfather, that would be most foolish. Almost as foolish as executing a skilled warrior without explaining why,” Damian fondly imagines Richard ooh’ing in the background at his “sick burn”.

“Your insolence has gone too far!” Ra’s yells. Um…. Rude.

“I assure you it can go farther.” He had little patience for his grandfather’s dramatics when he was a child. Much less now, at seventeen. 

“Damian,” his mother hisses, quick to jump in and scold him. Unfortunately for her, he was no longer a child, and her warnings lost the weight they once held over him.

“Yes, mother?” Damian asks, completely ignoring her obvious attempts to stop him from speaking.

“Enough of this! 20 lashes, is this what you want boy?” Ra’s says threateningly.

“What I want is for you to tell me why this woman must die?” Damian tilts his head in a calculated facade of confusion. Why was it so hard for these people to understand such a simple concept?

“She is a traitor!” Ra’s finally breaks, no doubt realizing they were going in circles at this point.

“What has she _done_?” 

“She was observed by my most trusted spy spilling our secrets to a former sidekick of the hero known as Green Arrow,” his mother cuts in. This, of course, makes him instantly interested. Fuck, he can’t let her die now. Not when she’s connected to Arsenal.

“I see, have we asked her why?” Damian attempts to reason.

“You want us to ask her why?” Ra’s repeats incredulously.

“Yes.” Damian nods his head to further emphasize his point.

“Have you hit your head today?” His mother demands rather than asks. Which again, rude. Like father like daughter he supposes. Everyone thought it was the bloodlust that was hereditary but maybe it was being uncivil. Damian certainly wouldn't be surprised if that were the case with how they were acting today was any indication.

“It seems rather profligate to kill her,” Damian shrugs. His mother’s gaze shocked and horrified at his disrespectful words.

“Damian,” his grandfather starts off slowly which immediately lets Damian know he is about to enact an unpleasant plan. “If you think it’s so “profligate” to kill her, how about you take her punishment for her?” Ra's says, his eyes narrowing and his mouth quirking up to an evil smirk. Damian wants to roll his eyes. How stereotypical.

“You wish to kill me, grandfather?” Damian says drily, raising his eyebrows in surprise. That was rather forward of him

“Father-”

“Enough Talia.” Ra’s raises a hand, cutting her off. She steps back and lowers her head. “Damian needs to learn how it feels to die, you have put it off for far too long,” Damian doesn't bother correcting him that he already knew how it felt to die, _thank-you-very-much, mother._

“Say I accept. What will happen to her?” Damian points at the wide-eyed woman still held against the floor.

“She will become your new servant and you will have the responsibility to punish her for any future mistakes.” Ra’s nods decisively and Damian supposes his mind was made up. 

It wasn't the worst-case scenario, at least this way he’d have a line to Arsenal. Or was he Red Arrow now? Speedy?

God, why the fuck did Super Heroes need to overcomplicate everything by picking so many goddamn names?

Wait, was this woman the mother of Harper’s child? Fuck what was her name? Something with cats?

“What is your name?” Damian asks.

She remains silent until the assassin holding her in place pushes their sword closer to her neck. “I may call me Cheshire,” she finally speaks.

“And I suppose that is the only name you wish to be referred to as?” Damian raises an eyebrow.

“For professionalism's sake, yes.” How did Harper get a woman of this caliber to even grace him with a glance? This was ridiculous.

“I hope you realize this is far from professional,” Damian tells her in a dry tone.

“The thought briefly made itself known in the last few minutes, yes.” She glances nervously at his grandfather and Damian decides to cut the conversation short to deal with the elephant in the room.

“So, are we doing this now or later?” Damian turns back to his grandfather.

“Now.” Damian catches the glint of the firelight on the knife before Ra’s strikes but doesn't bother moving out of the way. The pain is familiar as he falls to the ground choking on his own blood.

Perhaps his foolishness could reap more than a potential ally. Now he has an explanation for the changes in his personality. He can blame it on dying and write today off as a tantrum.

His vision darkens around the edges as he reflexively gasps for air that will not come. A choked sound rings in his ears, weaker individuals would assume to come from his mother, but which Damian is sure comes from himself. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again he’s back to a place he once promised himself he would never return to.

 **“Damian al Ghul, we have been waiting for you. ”** A thousand voices say at once.

A vindictive grin pulls at Damian’s lips.

He’ll enjoy taking over hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I've got a beta and they're the best, they've already helped me immensely.
> 
> Thank you so much IcedAquarius!
> 
> Edits made 02/03/2021


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim buys a laptop online using his dad’s ancient desktop and couriers it to the house (thank you credit cards), and the world opens for him once more. This time-period hasn’t dealt against master hackers, so gaining access to wherever he wants is child’s play. He manages three hours before he hacks into the League of Assassin’s servers to figure out what is happening with Damian. 

It doesn’t take long before Tim looks at his computer in complete disbelief 

What the fuck Damian?

The demon brat was there for a day at most!

How? How did he already fuck up the timeline? 

This was bullshit. 

Tim takes a deep breath, fighting the massive headache which had grown steadily since he landed himself here.

Okay, maybe Damian has a perfectly good,  _ explainable _ , reason for why he lost all his senses and provoked Ra’s into  _ slashing his throat.  _ Tim ignores the high-pitched whine that escapes from his mouth. Maybe this happened before and Damian just followed his cues? 

Tim didn't know anything for sure, he just needed to have a bit of faith. 

Faith. 

_ Yeah. _

Tim did not have a lick of faith in his bones, but by god, for Damian, he would try. He needs to trust Damian didn't get himself killed on a whim and that he had a plan.

Tim could  _ totally  _ do that.

He could! He totally could. That was something Tim  _ could  _ totally do. 

He was great at trusting people to do their part of the project!

This was just a group project and he needed to trust his partner to do their part. 

Just like in college. 

JuSt LIke iN cOlLeGe

Tim wasn't freaking out, that was preposterous.

Tim takes a deep breath before extracting himself from the League servers, pushing himself away from the laptop, spinning his chair around and around. The air’s drag across his skin is a pleasant sensation to calm the bees buzzing in his brain. He needs to focus on his own part of the project before he starts criticizing Damian on his.

Okay, so part one of his masterful plan to save Jason and Barbara; kidnap the Joker.

But where would he even keep-

A thought occurred.

Bruce has an entire cave hidden beneath his house, could Tim not have a  _ measly  _ dungeon under his? 

But how to build it? 

He could hire discrete construction workers to make a hole in the ground. It’s not like anyone was home to complain. If his parents didn't want him to make a dungeon under the house then they shouldn't have left him to his own devices.

Tim cracks his knuckles, then each of his fingers one by one, reveling in the popping sound of each, and pulls his laptop forward to research the crap out of Gotham’s various construction companies. A devious grin stretches across his face. 

Nothing but the best for the Joker after all. 

* * *

**_“Al Ghul… little al Ghul… come closer… come closer._** ” Damian rolls his eyes at the incessant buzzing. He has walked for days (hours, minutes, seconds, years) and not come across a single life form. 

If his eternal damnation was solitude then clearly whoever ran this place didn't know him. 

He loves not having to talk to people. 

(Damian refuses to acknowledge his skin itching at the loneliness that randomly hits him.) 

**_“Al Ghul… don't run away… don't leave..._** ” the voices croon in his ear. Damian huffs. 

“Stop being annoying,” he finally snaps back. 

The voices pause, as though taken aback. 

**_“Why are you in hell little al Ghul?_** ” Damian stops. He hadn't thought the voices were even capable of doing anything other than tempting him in one direction. A foolish supposition on his part.

“I have killed hundreds,” Damian says. 

**_“Do you believe you deserve to be here?”_ **

Damian rolls his eyes at the question. “Not like it matters what I believe.” 

**_“Belief matters more than anything little bat.”_ ** Damian resists the urge to shift back and forth on his feet, the name change unsettles him. What does it mean that the voices stopped referring to him as al Ghul and were instead calling him bat?

“In that case, no. I don't believe I deserve to be damned to eternal suffering for committing acts I was raised to. I don't believe any child should be left to rot here. I don't believe every soul here is evil and I don't believe I am evil,” Damian answers after a long pause.

**_“Do you think yourself a saint then?”_ ** The voices sound amused.

Damian barks out a laugh. He shakes his head ruefully. “No, there are no such things as saints,” he replies honestly.

**_“What a cynical child,_** ” the voices mock. 

“What a nosy voice,” Damian mocks back.

**_“Why do you walk so far when your family will soon revive you?”_ ** The voices hiss out the word family, like poison dripping from their ethereal mouths.

“I wish to take over hell,” Damian says determinedly.

The voices laugh, long and hard they laugh. He stands there patiently, not letting a single emotion show on his face. 

**_“And how will you do that little bat?”_ ** **T** he voices croon.

“I will make a deal with Constantine for the twin blade.”

The voices fall quiet.

Damian walks an hour (moment, year, second) more before they return.

**_“We will help you,”_** they whisper into his ear.

“I shall help you.” The symphony of voices disappears, replaced with one soft smooth female voice. Damian turns around and sees for the first time what has accompanied him on his journey.

Before him stands a horned red-skinned demoness, dressed in torn and ripped fabrics, with mottled bruises on her face. She oozes charm and sensuality, the scraps of fabric barely cover her, but Damian keeps his eyes on her face, nothing else was of interest to him

“What is your name, demon?” Damian demands. If she wishes to accompany him, she will follow his rules.

The demoness bares her teeth in what many would call a smile but Damian knows better.

“I am Lady Blaze.” Her voice is refined and prideful. Damian raises an eyebrow at her haggard appearance and wonders what she could possibly be proud of.

“You wish to help me take over hell?” Damian questions. The demoness hums in agreement.

“Why?” Damian tilts his head and waits patiently for her answer. The demon doesn’t respond for a long moment (minute, hour, day) before finally electing to give an answer. 

“I was the Queen. I was Queen of Hell before that.. that  _ thing  _ came back and retook the throne as its own,” she hisses. Damian reassesses her then. A former Queen of Hell. A smile slowly uncurls around his lips as a plan forms in his mind. 

“And who is it that came back?” Damian asks, his voice gleeful as the demoness glares at him. 

“The first of the Fallen,” she spits in derision and scorn. 

“Then here is a deal for you Lady Blaze, I will soon be brought back to life. While I am gone I will look for Constantine and steal the Twin Blade from him. I will return when I have completed this task. Together we shall take over Hell and we will make you Queen once more. In return for my help, you will be my Ally in everything, including my endeavor to take over the League of Assassins,” Damian tells her, his voice firm and assured. 

The look on her face could only be described as shock. “You would give me the throne to Hell? You would give away unimaginable power?” 

Damian waves a hand, dismissing the questions.“Tt. I have no need for such trivialities. What use is ruling Hell when I will always be brought back to life?” He fully intends for death to never hold permanent sway over him or his loved ones  _ ever again. _

“Do you accept Lady Blaze?” Damian extends his hand and waits patiently as the Demoness considers her options. 

While he waits, Damian pours his intent into his hand, willing for not only the words of the deal to be followed but also the spirit of it. A grin made its way onto his face when Blaze clasps the offered appendage. 

Before time travel was an avenue Damian dared to contemplate, he obsessively poured over every book of magic he could get his hands on, desperate for a way to bring back his lost family. 

He would never be the most powerful magic user nor the most knowledgeable one. He knew but only a few simple spells. But despite all that, it was the same limited magic that would help him save the world. 

The screech of outrage Blaze makes when his magic hooks her in a far more binding deal than she initially expected puts a vindictive grin on his face. The demoness prepares to lunge at him when a pull from inward grabs him. 

Damian lets a maniacal laugh escape from his throat and watches with glee as he is pulled back to the land of the living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some of you probably noticed that I really fucked DC's cannon.
> 
> This is because of two main reasons. one, I have a original plot I want to implement. and two, I don't know the cannon well enough.
> 
> Here's the down low on the plot btw, Blaze's brother is still killed by here but the reasons are different to make her more sympathetic, she becomes queen of hell before the First of the Fallen regains his powers, she nearly escapes with her life before finding Damian and starts to follow him around in hopes that he will make a deal with her for when he goes back to life. 
> 
> this obviously doesn't happen
> 
> In this fic Damian knows some magic but it's a limited skill and he's not the best at it. He'll probably learn more but I'm not entirely sure what branch on magic he should follow. (if you have a preference please comment, I am desperate for ideas)
> 
> The Twin Blade is a blade made of the essences of the Second and Third fallen after they were killed by the First. It's one of the one weapons that can kill demons and wikipedia says that apparently it made the First a powerless mortal.
> 
> Also, Lucifer is off playing hooky in the mortal world at this point in time.
> 
> if y'all have any questions feel free to ask them. Cant promise I have an answer tho.
> 
> \--
> 
> Many thanks to the amazing IcedAquarius that went back and fixed my many mistakes!
> 
> edits made 02/04/2021


	3. Chapter 3

Tim stands at the bay window on the third floor, tapping his barefoot rhythmically against the carpet, sharp eyes watching the workers start their task in the backyard.

Villians often used the company he hired to flesh out their bases so this request was no doubt rather tame in comparison to their more...  _ eccentric _ customers.

He hadn’t slept the night Damian died. The image of Ra’s slashing the tiny five-year-old’s throat replaying in his mind whenever he closed his eyes. Instead, Tim spent hours pouring over blueprints to make the perfect prison before finally designing a room he doubted the Joker would ever escape from.

The prison contained three main cells, in case he ever needed to hold anyone other than the Joker. The cells were separated by steel bars and bulletproof glass and its walls and floor were made of cement. Food was put into the cells by a small hole in the wall Tim would manually open and close. No visible wires or electronics and the only way to open the cells was by a remote control Tim would hide in the kitchen's wall. And most importantly, the entire design was soundproof.

Here's the thing about the Joker; he wasn't super-powered, he wasn't a genius, he wasn't even particularly talented at fighting. The Joker was insane and his madness was what made him almost impossible to beat, especially if you played by his rules. But Tim wasn't planning to play by the Joker’s rules, he wasn't planning to give the man the chance to turn the tides, he wasn't planning on letting the Joker win. Not about this, not when so much rode on getting this  _ right.  _ Maybe Tim was overconfident, but he had plans set in place for if the Joker ever did escape, plans that would result in the Joker’s death because Tim was nothing if not thorough.

In the morning's early hours, the day after he arrived, Tim placed the order for his construction project under Jack’s name, forging his signature on the digital contract. He paid using the money of a pedophilic upper-class citizen by the name of Hazly. After taking the desired amount of money he left an anonymous tip to the police about Hazly’s activities.

The company told him the prison would be complete in three months.

His parents would be home in two and his housekeeper in a week.

Tim fired the housekeeper, paying her an advance of three months as an apology for the inconvenience and to keep her quiet. He then planted a lead, on a site he knew his parents used for research, to an unmarked piece of land in Egypt the “locals” said might have been a burial ground.

He then promptly passed out and slept till midnight. He woke to find a missed call from his parents informing him they wouldn’t be back for another year. 

Tim ignored the slight twinge in his chest at the sound of his mother’s voice or the roiling disappointment that came when they placed their own priorities over his. He may look twelve, but he wasn’t anymore and he didn’t need his parents’ attention. He convinced himself it was satisfaction, and not resentment, at how easy it was tricking them to stay away.

After those two problems were taken care of he spent a few days pondering how to capture the Joker before he came to a conclusion. 

He would need Damian’s help.

The sound of a jackhammer jars him out of his thoughts. The first patch of dirt flies into the air as the workers break ground. Tim steps away from the window, turning sharply on his heel and stalking back to his room to check again on the status of his other projects. Namely, keeping constant tabs on the League of Assassins’ servers for news concerning Damian.

Ra’s had killed him a week ago and they still hadn’t resurrected him. Each passing day Tim’s worry grew larger. (He couldn’t end up here alone, what would he do if he was stuck trying to save the world  _ alone.) _

Slipping into the digital backdoor he made, Tim checks his normal areas for information. It takes him a second to register what he reads before he breathes a sigh of relief. He leans his head on the desk, closing his eyes, letting the information sweep over him like a crashing wave. The hard knot in his chest, heavy and looming since he learned of Damian’s death, unravels. 

Damian would be thrown into the pit today.

Tim straightens himself up. Good. He probably would have destroyed the League if Damian got himself killed permanently.

Thankfully that wasn't necessary.

Tim loads up his own servers where he has multiple projects running. Searches caching and cataloging information, contingency plans in the works for a variety of situations, and write-ups on current and future villains, heroes, and important players. Every scrap of what he can remember from his previous life, all carefully hidden in this digital stronghold. He never plans for Barbara to ever become Oracle again, but the universe is a massive bitch and Tim doesn’t want to get caught with his pants down. He isn't entirely sure in an all-out battle against her he would come out victorious, even with his future knowledge and tech.

Tim starts to comb through his own information and the Leagues’. If he plans on trapping the Joker anytime soon (or pulling off any other of his numerous plans) he needs a way to get in contact with Damian.

Well, as soon as the brat’s not dead anymore.

* * *

Damian wakes with a desperate gasp, he tries to breathe and chokes on water instead. Instinctively his arms push through the green-tinged liquid bringing himself to the surface. He pulls in another gasp of air and struggles to reach dry land.

A hand circles his arm and drags him out of the pit. 

Damian kneels on the ground, choking up water waiting for his brain to function. In his chest, a fit of roiling anger starts, and he slams it down. The pit would hold no sway over him. He was Damian al Ghul-Wayne, and  _ he  _ was in control. Once he no longer feels like dying (again) he blinks, opening his eyes. Cheshire stands in front of him, sans mask, watching with a blank expression. 

“You shouldn't be here,” he rasps out. The woman looks at him, a flicker of concern passing through her eyes, before looking away. Damian gets ready to open his mouth again to tell her to leave before she speaks up.

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Damian’s wide eyes gaze at her as she lowers herself to her knees so their faces are level. She looks Damian straight in the eyes and Damian can't help but feel a sensation in the back of his head screaming he is in danger.

“I’m pregnant and I need your help. You saved me, you didn't know me and still, you helped me. I’m pregnant and I want you to protect my child as you protected me.” She doesn’t beg, she doesn’t cry. She demands.

She demands and Damian becomes hyper-aware that in the future this woman becomes one of the most deadly assassins in the world.

“Protect my child and I will help you in your endeavors.”

“You don't know what I wish to achieve yet, how can you truly say you will stand by my side throughout it?” Damian wants to curse his damn lisp. He needs to inspire fear and loyalty in his allies, and the childish speech impediment wasn’t helping.

She shrugs. “It matters not what I have to commit as long as my baby stays alive through it,” Chesire says firmly and Damian believes her.

This is a woman willing to  _ kill  _ for her child. A woman willing to  _ die _ for her child.

A spark of envy-longing-rage flares in Damian’s chest before he mercilessly buries it. He can't afford to let an emotion like petty jealousy get in the way of his plans. 

Damian holds out a small shaking hand and watches with bated breath as Cheshire takes it.

She pulls him up and Damian stumbles as he tries to stand. As the two start to leave Damian stops. His clothes are soaked through, and the fabric clings to his body. Heavy and wet as they are he can feel, in a hidden pocket on the inside of his tunic, a cold hard object up against his skin. Nothing was in there before the meeting with his grandfather and mother. He pulls out a small vial with a cork stopper. He gazes at the object for a moment. 

Where in the world did this come from? 

The glowing green waters of the pit draw his eyes. Well, it hardly matters where it came from, he supposes. What matters was he had it now. 

Kneeling down at the pit's edge, he scoops the water into the vial and hides it back in the pocket. 

He turns and sees Cheshire watching him with a raised eyebrow. He glares. 

“Insurance,” he says. If she’s unable to understand he might perhaps have to re-think her competence. Instead, she nods, and they quickly leave the cavern without a sound.

* * *

A few hours later, Damian is clean from the pit's murky waters and in new clothes, reacquainting himself with his childhood bedroom, when Cheshire silently enters and hands him a phone.

“I don't know why you need this but it’s untraceable and the League won't be able to hack it without the phone physically in their possession,” Cheshire explains. 

Damian nods at her but doesn't bother paying too much attention to her words, he’s far more interested in the phone in his hands. He waits until she leaves before inputting Drake’s home number. (Something else he had her obtain.)

It rings once… twice… three times…

_ “Hello?” _ a familiar yet different voice answers. Damian relaxes at the sound.

“Drake, it’s me,” Damian says, making sure to not say who he is in case Drake hadn’t come back with him. (Please, please, let that not be the case. He can take over the League, but please, he  _ can’t  _ be alone.)

_ “Oh, thank fuck.” _ The voice on the other end breathes.

“Articulate.” Damian snarks because it is easier for him to insult Drake than admit he missed the bastard and was worried about him.

_ “Yeah, no, you don't get to insult me when you went and got yourself killed not even a day into the past,”  _ Drake shoots back.

“I was doing my best okay!” Damian tries to justify.

_ “Well, your best got you killed. You’ve been dead for a week!” _ Damian lets himself grimace. Cheshire informed him of the same information. He could imagine the wait hadn’t been pleasant for Drake. 

But it wasn’t like he was going to give the other a break because of it. “Don't make me remind you of all of your own blunders, Timothy.”

_ “So you admit you made a mistake?” _ Damian hears the eyebrow raise, and he scowls even though Drake can’t see it.

“I admit I may have miscalculated, but that doesn't mean you're any better than me. What happened to twelve hours Timothy? We landed twelve years in the past!” Damian spits, a simmering green rage boiling below the surface of his skin.

_ “I have no clue how this happened Damian and to be honest I don’t think it’s our biggest problem, but nice lisp by the way.”  _ He can hear the shit-eating grin on  _ the _ older boy’s face. 

“Drake do not think I will not stab you when I get the chance,” Damian growls, he scowls, and his cheeks redden at the reminder of the speech impediment. 

_ “Fine, fuck, whatever, I have more important things to talk to you about,”  _ Drake sighs tiredly and Damian doesn't let himself feel bad for the bastard.

“I too need to discuss something of great importance with you.” 

_ “You first.” _

“I need you to send me Constantine's location,” Damian says.

_ “What? Why?”  _ Drake asks in confusion.

“He has an object I require.” Damian sits on his bed and crawls to the center leaning against the stacked pillows. 

_ “What does Constantine have that you could possibly need? _ ” Drake sounds suspicious.

“Drake you needn’t worry. I have it all under control.” Damian is quick to reassure the other. If his plans to take over the League are likely to cause Drake to panic, then his plans to take over Hell will hardly be received any better. 

_ “It’s not about having it all under control, it's about trust,” _ Drake points out.

“So you don't trust me?” Damian taps his pointer finger against his thigh.

_ “I trust you enough to know what you're doing, but it seems you don't trust  _ me _ enough to tell me what you're doing.”  _ Drake sighs.  _ “Damian please, I just want to help.”  _ Damian stops tapping his thigh. He takes a deep breath before relenting.

“Very well, I made a deal with Lady Blaze, the former Queen of hell, to take over hell and give her back her throne. I need Constantine so I can liberate a particular blade from his possession that can kill demons,” Damian explains in one breathe. No, he was not  _ nervous _ . Shut up.

There is silence from the line's other end before... _ “Damian,  _ Damian, _ what the fuck?”  _ Damian scrunches his nose.

“See I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react like this!” he defends.

_ “Of course I’d react like this! Damian, you made a deal with a demon! How else am I supposed to fucking react!” _

“I have my reasons! Drake, please trust me, I have my reasons.” There’s a pause. Both Damian and Drake realize Damian had said ‘please’.

There is an indistinct murmur from Drake _.“Fine,” _ he seethes through his teeth.  _ “I'll send you his location in a few days.”  _ Damian relaxes, pleased to have Drake on his side and not against him. It would have made his plans much harder. __

“Thank you, now your turn. What's your request?”

_ “I need you to help me kidnap the Joker,”  _ Drake mumbles.

“What?” Damian prods, in case he misheard him.

_ “I- I need you to help me kidnap the Joker,” _ Drake repeats, this time a little louder.

“No, I heard you the first time I merely wanted you to realize how absolutely  _ stupid _ you sound,” Damian says derisively.

Drake scoffs. _ “You made a deal with a demon to take over hell!” _

“And you want to kidnap the Joker! Guess we’re both fucking stupid.”

_ “Look- will you help me or not?” _ Drake says, sighing.

Damian rolls his eyes. “Of course I’ll help you, what kind of ques-” he starts to say before Drake cuts in.

_ “Thanks, Damian.” _ Then Drake hangs up.

Damian listens to silence for a moment before dropping the phone on the bed and places a small hand on his face to cover his eyes. 

Fucking Drake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the few comics that I read with Cheshire you start to notice that there is very little she won't do for Lian. There was one comic where she has a chance to escape from prison but she doesn't because Lian's watching and she doesn't want her child to see that. It's fucking tragic.
> 
> I of course don't know everything about Jade Nguyen so please be aware of that when reading this.
> 
> Edit made 02/06/2021
> 
> Thank you once more to IcedAquarius for not only helping with the grammar but most of the story telling. This fic is so much more concise with their help and you should all check them out they're amazing.


	4. Chapter 4

Tim blearily blinks the sleep from his eyes, hoping, no, desperately praying, this was a dream. He covertly pinches his pajama-clad arm and wants to groan at the slight twinge of pain. Huh, well, this is inconvenient.

He smiles innocently at Bruce, who stands on his doorstep in a three-piece suit, but holds the doorknob in a vice grip, ready to close it in the man’s face at a moment's notice. Alarm bells ring in Tim’s head, while his heart completely drops into his stomach. It had been  _ so long  _ since he last saw Bruce this young, this  _ happy _ .

“Hi, you’re Tim, right? Jack and Janet’s son?” Bruce says with fake obliviousness. The man clearly knows who Tim is.

Fuck, how could this have happened? What could have tipped off Batman something was going on? He’d been here three weeks and he hadn’t changed  _ that  _ much. (Maybe…) 

“Yup! And you’re Bruce Wayne,” Tim chirps, internally screaming. Damian can never find out about this. If he ever finds out Tim screwed up enough to summon fucking Batman to his door he’ll hold it over his head for eternity.

“Is your father or mother home?” Bruce asks.

Tim shakes his head. “Nope, they're away on business. I can hold a message for you if you want though?”

“I don't want to burden you, can I get their number instead? The number I thought was theirs redirects me to an operator.” Bruce smiles sheepishly.

Tim resists the urge to let his eye twitch. He disconnected his parents' numbers the second he used their credit cards. Every call they receive gets screened by him first and then directed to them if the person calling is “safe”.

But here’s the thing, Tim certainly would have remembered if Bruce Wayne called, which means Bruce called with a different number. A number Tim disconnected.

Lovely.

_ Fucking lovely. _

He needs a good reason to get inside and strategize. “Did you call with a different number? Mom and Dad don't answer numbers they don't recognize. Here, let me call them for you right now!” he says. He catches a brief frown from Bruce before it’s covered up with a vacant smile. Tim doesn't bother waiting for an answer, he slams the door shut and rushes inside. 

“Think, you idiot. Think!” he knocks his fist against his head. His first order of business; make sure Damian never caught wind of this. Which meant keeping him busy. He grabs the phone off the table and quickly calls Damian.

One ring… two rings… three rings…

_ “This better be important Drake,” _ Damian hisses.

“I want you to know Constantine is currently in England. His coordinates are-” Tim rambles off the man’s location before hanging up. He sighs. There, that should keep Damian busy for a week or two. Which would give him plenty of time to fix this whole Batman mess.

Tim runs back to the door, opening it to find Bruce still standing there with his public-persona smile. Tim punches in his parent’s number. He smiles at Bruce and jokingly puts a finger to his lips in a hush sign.

It takes a lot longer for his parents to pick up than it did Damian, which was honestly sad considering Damian was in literal danger every time he came in contact with Tim.

Before they finally pick up Tim’s mind conjured the horrifying image of Damian raising him and still being a better father than Jack. Tim can not reiterate how cursed the image is, especially because it consists of hot adult Damian teaching little Tim how to disembowel someone.

Tim hates his brain.

_ “Tim this better be important. Your father and I are busy.” _ It figures the first thing his mother would say after months of radio silence would be scolding him. Tim ignores how his chest tightens and his breath quickens at the sound of her voice.

(It had been so long.)

He pushes away those feelings; he needs to focus on the current problem, and break down emotionally later. 

“Hello mother, Bruce Wayne is at our doorstep and he wants to talk to dad. I’m handing him the phone now.” Tim has absolutely no problem making his parents deal with Bruce. He knows Bruce won't be able to fully have the conversation he wants because of him standing there

“Janet! It’s been a while. I’m so sorry for disturbing you, I know how busy you are, but I have some concerns about a worrying rumor I wanted to confirm was fake.” Bruce waits for a little, listening to his mother’s reply. He makes a hum and Tim straightens at the sound.

The movement catches Bruce’s eye and Tim curses his younger body. Years of training and conditioning to rid himself of his twitchiness washed down the drain. At twelve years old his body reacts like a live wire to every stimulus crossing his path. 

God, he wanted to feel numb again. 

He fakes an innocent smile and hopes Bruce mistakes him for nothing more than a cute and harmless child. He needs to factor this confrontation into his plans, and triple-check everything else, as to not rouse Bruce’s suspicions. Failure is not an option this time.

* * *

Damian wants to growl at the insipid piece of plastic and metal clutched in his hand. What the fuck was wrong with Drake? The man couldn't have waited for Damian to call him? Tim knew how dangerous it was calling him without warning.

Drake’s behavior concerned him; the call was unexpectedly reckless and came from nowhere. What could he be hiding? Maybe he sent Damian the location because Tim knew he wouldn't be able to later.

Damian couldn’t shake the feeling the other was in danger. 

“Demon heir?” Cheshire asks. He glances up at her masked face, breaking out of his inner thoughts. Shit. He can’t afford distractions. Damian rubs his eyes, and takes a deep breath, focusing on the bright side. He now knew Constantine’s location.

“An ally informing me of a piece of information I requested.” She nods but does not ask more questions. Damian admits it is a quality he respects her for. He hands her the phone and she hides it back on her person.

They depart the small alcove they hid in when the call came through. Walking down the halls of his childhood home still feels odd even after living in the past for a few weeks. The dancing shadows, the constant paranoia, and the threat of danger were not nostalgic memories Damian wished to re-endure, but he would carry on regardless.

Reaching a grand pair of doors, inlaid with intricate patterns of snakes in gold and jewels, they pause. Waiting for one of his grandfather’s servants to inform him of their arrival. After a moment the doors swing open and Damian strolls through head held high, shoulders back, the picture of respect. 

“Grandson.” Ra’s greets as he approaches. His tone is mild and calculating, a combination Damian did not earn until much later in his first life. He notes his mother is missing from this meeting; he had not seen a glimpse of her since he died three weeks ago.

Damian kneels in respect - Chesire does the same behind him - his eyes turned to the floor, and waits for his grandfather to give him permission to stand once more. The gesture makes him want to rage, a faint tinge of green creeping into his sight, but he pushes it back. He was already on thin ice, no need to further agitate the man with an outburst.

“Rise,” his grandfather says cooly. Damian does, keeping all emotions off his face. “I have a mission for you and your…  _ vassal _ , Grandson.” Damian inwardly quirks an eyebrow at Ra’s pause as well as his wording.

“Whatever you have in mind I have the utmost confidence we can complete it,” Damian assures. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cheshire tilt her head in agreement.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Ra’s says snidely. Damian’s hackles rise, the bubbling churn of anger once again threatening to overcome him. He calms himself quickly; he can not afford to let his grandfather see an exploitable weakness.

“Your mission is to capture Rose Wilson, codename Ravager, daughter of Slade Wilson,” Ra’s orders. Damian’s stomach drops. This definitely did not occur in the original timeline.

“May I be permitted to ask why?” Damian tries to dig for information. What changed drastically enough to trigger this?.

“No.” Ra’s frowns severely at Damian.

“I apologize, but knowing all information pertinent to the mission will help me complete it to the best of my abilities,” Damian tries once more.

“Do not speak to me of  _ pertinence,  _ child. I have no need for you to complete it to your best, you must simply complete it. Or are you incapable of finishing such a simple task without hand-holding?” Ra’s mocks.

“No Grandfather,” Damian grits through clenched teeth. He hopes his eyes are not glowing green, as Todd’s eyes once did when father pushed him too far.

The old man scoffs. “You shall depart immediately. You have two hours to pack. Finish your task in three weeks. I trust you have the skill to trap her on your own without league interference,” Ra’s asks it like a question, but Damian is well aware it is not.

Damian wants to rage. His grandfather intends to send a five-year-old child and a pregnant woman after two of the most dangerous killers in the world,  _ with no backup.  _ This isn’t a task, this is a suicide mission. He closes his eyes for a moment, unwilling to let his emotions show, before cutting straight to the point.

“And if we fail?” Damian asks, although he already has a good idea of Ra’s answer. 

“Then your vassal dies and you will suffer punishment for your ineptitude,” Ra’s informs him, with a mocking sneer.

Damian clenches his teeth, before bowing his head. “As you wish Grandfather.” The older man dismisses them with a wave, and Damian turns on his heel stalking out of the throne room with barely repressed fury. Cheshire a silent but deadly shadow following his footsteps.

Silence reigns until they enter his set of rooms, but once alone Chesire is quick to turn to liquid fire.

“How can you protect my child when your grandfather wants us dead!” she hisses in his face. Damian holds back a flinch - she terrifies him a bit, justifiably so - keeping his face calm. He needs to de-escalate and calculate.

“If on the off chance we don't find Wilson’s spawn, do you really think I’d make you come back here?” Damian asks incredulously. Cheshire narrows her eyes before backing off.

“No matter what happens I will not let you die until you give birth,” Damian says firmly. To others it may seem like a threat, a promise of borrowed time, but if Cheshire thinks of it that way she certainly doesn't let it show. She solemnly nods her head. 

“Now, go and pack. We do not have much time,” he says, dismissing her to her own rooms. 

He watches her leave and sighs once his door closes. Perhaps it is wrong of him to promise this expert killer protection when he once forsook many others for the same crimes she commits without blinking an eye. She was simply one woman, one woman who would go on and kill thousands.

But she wasn't just one woman, she held the heart of Roy Harper in her hands and the body of Lian Harper in her stomach.

Damian knew, he  _ knew, _ he would protect this woman until she gave birth. But after that? After that, she and her child were on their own. He would wash his hands of them and hope they’d never darken his doorstep again.

But before that, Rose Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 02/14/2021 
> 
> Many thanks to IcedAquarius for beta'ing this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Tim stomps back into the house, phone in hand, and dramatically throws himself onto the chaise lounge in the parlor. He cradles his head in his hands and groans.

He hates his brain sometimes. Oh yeah, remind him Damian looked good as an older teen, but not that Bruce watches construction companies whose clients were primarily villains. _Thanks, brain._

Granted his brain _had_ devised an idea to fix the problem, or at least, the notion of an idea. The plan depends on what details the construction company files have for the room they were building. Depending on the information available Tim could bend the outcome in a variety of ways. 

Watching his mother run verbal circles around Bruce proved entertaining, even if Tim couldn’t hear what she said. The conversation quickly ended leaving a stunned Bruce without a single answer he came for. Tim swiftly took the phone away from the man, told him politely to never come over again, and promptly shut the door in his face. 

Tim’s brain reminds him if he wants to stay off Bruce’s radar he needs to get up and trick the man. He wants to do that (really, he does) but forcing his limbs to move takes more effort than he can muster. Tim can’t tell how long he spends on the lounge, staring at the ceiling, the seconds-minutes-hours grating against his brain. Eventually, the grumble of his stomach pushes him forward and he slides off the chair. Reluctantly he drags his feet in the kitchen’s direction, He needs to prepare if he wants a hope of a chance fooling Batman. Which means coffee, and food. 

Two hours and a headache later Tim pushes back from his computer and wishes he could cry.

_What the fuck?_

He knew what needed to be done to get Batman off his back but he didn't want to. Like, he _really_ didn't want to.

“Bruce will never look my parents in the eye again,” Tim whimpers.

Still, sacrifices must be made for the greater good. 

He hacks his parents' phones and sets to work creating a series of “deleted” texts. From now on, Batman and Robin would know the Drakes as the kinky motherfuckers getting off on consensual role-playing.

Tim wants to reiterate how much he hates his brain for creating such cursed ideas.

Thankfully, Bruce had yet to successfully hack his parents' phones, so he had a few hours before he needed to mourn his parents' good image. He takes a sip of coffee and dives into another project, desperate to erase the mental images he created of his parents doing unspeakable acts together. 

Two hours later, he receives a ping letting him know Bruce entered his parents' devices, Tim sighs. That should keep Bruce away for now.

All in all, the confrontation could have been worse. Tim still flew mostly under the radar of his vigilante detective, next-door-neighbors. His parents remain clueless, as always. And if he kept quiet, Damian would never have to know of this little slip-up. Still, not Tim’s brightest moment, all things considered.

* * *

A few days after the incident, Damian calls him.

“Demon brat” Tim greets. He swirls his tongue around his lollipop wishing he could drink coffee instead. He ran out yesterday and procrastinated the order to have more delivered. His brain demanded stimulation though, causing him enough desperation to move onto sugar and hope it worked.

Damian’s little snarl of anger, instead of a greeting, drew a smile to Tim’s face. Even all these years later, teasing the other boy with that nickname never fails to amuse him. It was the simple pleasures in life that made it all worth it.

 _"Drake, I require assistance.”_ Tim’s eyebrows raise. Damian calling him for help twice in one month? It must be a record.

“What do you need?” Tim asks around the lollipop, spinning his desk chair towards his computer. He’s bored with nothing to do but wait for his projects to finish. Almost bored enough to hack into random organizations for funsies. Even bored enough to venture beyond the walled grounds of his house. 

Well, he hadn’t reached _that_ level. (Yet.)

 _“Are you eating?”_ Damian sounds aghast as if he can’t believe Tim would rudely munch while talking on the phone with _him_.

Tim stays silent for a moment. “...No?” Making sure the lollipop clacks against his teeth. Damian sighs, clearly aggravated, and Tim grins wildly. He loves causing the little brat inconvenience.

 _Tt. Whatever, I need you to find Rose Wilson.”_

Well, there goes his morning. “Excuse me?” Tim askes in utter bafflement.

 _Are your ears truly so stuffed that_ -”

Tim growls. “Shut it brat. I’m the one about to do you a favor. What the fuck do you mean you need to find Rose Wilson? What happened to Constantine?” 

_“Grandfather wishes to punish me for my disrespect. He expects to accomplish this giving a five-year-old Damian an impossible task. Thankfully for us both, I am not a five-year-old and can succeed where a younger version otherwise would have failed.”_ Damian paused. _“My plans for Constantine will wait until a later time.”_

“Fuck.” Tim hisses out between his teeth. He takes his lollipop and throws it into the trash. Cradling his head he takes a deep breath. This was not good, messing around with assassins tended to end with a bullet in the head. 

_“Indeed,”_ Damian agrees. Tim chokes back a manic laugh. He can’t believe the situations they manage to get themselves into. He cracks his knuckles and straightens in his chair.

“Okay, okay.” He hypes himself up before setting to work tracking Rose Wilson. “If I were an assassin, where would I hide?” 

Damian stays on the phone while Tim works. His voice is a nice white noise to help him concentrate better. When Damian talks his lisp seeps into his speech, making Tim smirk every time he hears it. Damian’s voice, when he first came to live with Bruce, was clipped and perfect, almost stereotypical proper English. Now though, his voice sounds childishly high-pitched, lisped, and accented heavily. Tim found it ridiculously cute. 

The search benefits from the few weeks Tim has spent digging his digital claws into the criminal underworld. Still, he works basically from ground zero, and a few hours pass before Tim successfully finds her.

“Alright Demon Brat, I found your assassin.” Tim ignores Damian’s unamused huff. “She and her father took a job in Avignon, France. Apparently, there’s a weapons deal happening in a week and the buyer, Shawn Dupont, has a fifty million dollar bounty on his head dead or alive. I’ll send you the deal’s coordinates. Do you want me to locate their base?”

 _“This will be sufficient. I can locate them myself from here,”_ Damian says imperiously. Tim rolls his eyes and goes to disconnect before stopping. 

“Hey, Damian, be careful okay?” Tim says softly, trying to resist the intense worry flooding through him. Damian was a fully trained assassin. Five-year-old body or not he could take care of himself. “I’m not in the mood to look for a new partner,” he snarks, poorly trying to cover his previous concern. He hangs up the phone. His heart beats wildly and he lowers his head to his desk, groaning at his own actions.

“Great going Tim,” he mutters.

* * *

Damian stares blankly at the phone.

“Tt. Typical Drake,” he mutters, halfway between confused and annoyed. The nerve of Tim to sound like he _cares,_ and then hang up. Honestly. Damian shakes his head and decides to ignore the other boy’s inconsistency and focus on his mission.

“Cheshire!” Damian calls. He sits in their hotel suite’s office room. After leaving the compound, they traveled to Dubai where Cheshire could acquire the necessary documentation to maintain a cover and they could easily disappear into a crowd. Damian _attempted_ to find Wilson on his own but quickly gave up. He needs every moment available to complete his mission, and such sleuthing endeavors suit Timothy better. 

The added bonus of several hours of casual conversation without worrying others would overhear them also contributed to the decision. 

He waits a few moments before the woman emerges from the main bedroom.

“You finally finished your phone call?” she mocks. Damian grits his teeth but ignores her attempt to push his buttons. He would not attack the pregnant woman unless she attacks (physically) first. He had more self-control than that.

“Yes. My associate located Wilson, prepare to leave in a few hours.” Cheshire nods and turns back to the bedroom. Damian boots up his computer, quickly arranging tickets for the next flight to Avignon. 

* * *

In the early morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, Damian and Cheshire make their way through airport security. Damian suffers through holding Cheshire’s hand. Their passports say they’re mother and son, and they do not wish to garner attention by dissuading the presumption. 

Finally, they walk down the long hall to their gate to wait for their plane. Damian does his best to act like a real toddler; smiling, carrying around a blanket, and sipping from a juice box Cheshire purchases from a store located in the terminal. He wants the coffee she acquires for herself, but the fruity drink suffices. 

They board the plane after a short wait. Cheshire stores their few belongings in the overhead compartment, while Damian claims the window seat. They wait through the shuffling passengers, the mandatory announcements, and the small delay on the runway, but soon enough they rise into the early morning sky. 

“I’m going to rest,” he informs her, unbuckling his seatbelt. Cheshire, already pulling out a magazine, nods. “Wake me to take the watch in a few hours.” She just hums. Damian, more than a little tired, rolls his eyes and curls into the blanket. 

In the sky, they should be safe. He hadn’t spotted anyone suspicious in the waiting lounge, but looks can be deceiving. After all, he was a five-year-old who could kill people with a spoon, traveling with a pregnant woman who could take out armed guards with one hand tied behind her back. The little old lady knitting three rows ahead, the businessman cheating on his wife two rows back, the smiling flight attendant who offered him a sticker. Anyone could be suspect. 

It doesn’t escape him this is the first time surrounded by so many people in _years._ His mind continues to worry before he eventually falls into an uneasy sleep. 

* * *

A firm hand roughly shakes his shoulder, Damian mumbles and attempts to move away, only to find himself achy and constrained. Instincts kick in and immediately he’s awake, halfway through the motion to disarm whoever snuck up on him before he notices his location. 

Cheshire watches with an amused smirk. “Get your seatbelt on brat, we’re landing.” 

“What?” he asks, the fog of sleep still obscuring his thoughts. 

“We are landing. Seatbelt.” She points to the illuminated sign. 

“You were supposed to wake me.” How could she have let him sleep for _seven_ hours? Before Cheshire says anything, a stewardess walks by.

“You two okay over here?” she asks her voice a grating tone of saccharine sweetness. “You did so well sleeping the whole trip, sweetie.” Damian scowls at her, and she laughs.

Cheshire smiles back. “Oh don’t mind him, he’s a little grumpy waking up from his nap. Thank you for checking on us.” The stewardess nods and moves along. Damian buckles his seatbelt, glaring at Cheshire. 

“I will eviscerate you,” he hisses, low and menacing. 

“Not anytime soon, brat,” she responds with a shark-like grin. He crosses his arms and glares out the window, watching the ground coming into focus beneath them. Eventually, they land, and the process to disembark and go through customs, begins all over again. 

When they finally exit the airport Damian is fully awake. They stop first at a cafe. Cheshire acquires them sustenance, and he scouts for a location to serve as their base of operations. It needs to be secluded enough no one would notice noise from a hostage.

Damian sips on a mug of hot chocolate, taking a bite of a flaky pastry. Cheshire drinks a large black coffee. He finds a suitable option; a three-room cottage paid in cash, located twenty minutes outside the city. It’s a mile from a small village, and a popular spot for tourists looking for peace and quiet. Damian immediately books it for two weeks. 

A rental car, and two hours later, they stand in the cottage; a small white house tucked into a wooded grove, with rose bushes planted out front. 

“I’ll be back,” Cheshire says, after placing her bag in her room. 

Damian glares. “And where do you think you’re going?” 

“We need weapons if we plan to take on the Wilsons,” she says, slowly, as if talking to a child. The tone boils his blood in a green-tinged rage, but Damian would have none of her excuses.

“You're pregnant.”

“And?” Cheshire goes stone still. Damian knows he must tread carefully.

“You haven’t slept in more than thirty-six hours, and unless you ate on the plane while I rested-” he watches her face tighten “-all you’ve consumed since breakfast yesterday is coffee. You can't keep going without a proper amount of sleep and food.” 

“Oh, _really_?” Her voice is low and dangerous, but Damian stands his ground; he is right. 

“Look, if you plan to keep that baby, you need to realize, at the moment, you're driving for two. You haven't slept or eaten nearly enough to fight optimally, much less convincingly stay undercover. I would not care if it was just you affected by your self-destruction, but I also swore to protect your child. Your incompetence shall not hinder that promise.” Cheshire narrows her eyes, but Damian refuses to bend to her intimidation; he may look five, but he is not. 

“What do you suggest then? Oh great and wise little lord.” she spits out.

He ignores her childish sarcasm. “You stay here. _Sleep_ , instead of caffeinating yourself.” He gestures to her empty coffee cup. “I shall go and acquire food, and we’ll continue our endeavors once sufficiently prepared.” He crosses his arms and waits for any resistance from the older woman 

“Fine.” She turns on her heel and stalks to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

“Real mature,” Damian mutters. He grabs a handful of Euros and walks out the front door, careful to latch and lock it quietly. Just for spite.

* * *

Damian returns an hour and a half later, ladened down by several bags of food from the village’s farmer’s market, and grocery store. Placing the key into the door, he lets himself in, sighing in relief. He forgot how annoying concerned civilians could be when confronted with an unaccompanied child.

He glances over at Cheshire's door, still firmly closed. Damian quietly empties the food into the fridge and cupboards. It’s a familiar routine. In the future, Drake could get lost in his head, forgetting to eat and sleep without prompting. Damian took it on himself to make sure he survived. He wasn’t Alfred, but he could throw together an edible meal. 

He makes enough food for both Cheshire and himself, placing her larger portion in the fridge. He eats alone on the couch, spending the rest of the afternoon on his computer, searching for any signs of the Wilsons. Cheshire’s bedroom door opens, as the sun begins to set. 

He looks up from his computer. “Your food is in the fridge.” She nods slowly, still looking half asleep. Plodding over to the small kitchen she grabs the bowl of food and warms it in the microwave. 

She goes to grab a glass from the cupboard, but freezes. Damian tenses when she pulls out a box of coffee cakes. She stares at the box for a moment, her face twisted in an emotion he can not place, before glancing at him. 

“I figured you had a craving,” he says, hoping from this distance she can not see the tint of red to his ears and cheeks. She doesn’t say anything, so he slides his eyes away, turning back to the screen of his computer. Eventually, the couch dips when she settles herself beside him. 

A few minutes pass, only the clack of his fingers against his keyboard and the clink of silverware break the silent evening. Finally, Cheshire speaks.

“My name is Jade.”

Damian blinks. “Hello Jade,” he replies softly. This moment could shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't careful.

She lays a hand across her stomach, the beginnings of a bump visible through her clothes. “Her name is Lian.” Jade’s eyes brim with love and adoration, softening her normally severe demeanor. A string of bitterness weaves itself around Damian’s heart. It tightens its hold and Damian wants to gasp at the pain.

He clenches his teeth, holding back the feelings. It wasn't Jade or Lian’s fault he was like this.

Damian places aside his laptop, shuffling over on the couch, kneeling so close he almost touches her thigh. He looks to her for permission. Jade nods, and a tentative smile inches onto his face. Reaching out a hand and he places it on her stomach.

“Hello, Lian,” his voice tinged with a slight bit of awe. No one had ever allowed him to exist this close to an unborn human life form.

His tiny fingers spread across her barely protruding stomach and Damian swears he feels a kick. He looks at Jade in surprise only for her face to mirror his.

She rests her own hand on his, engulfing his fingers and palm.

Her warm hand is rough with calluses and scars, but surprisingly gentle as she moves his around her stomach, helping him to find the spots where little Lian kicks. The action makes Damian want to burrow into the moment, absorb every gesture, every ounce of kindness, and hoard it. It also makes him want to run away screaming. 

In the evening’s fading light, despite how much he wants to pull away, his hand won’t move and his legs don’t budge. He doesn’t know why but he just can’t.

Tears prickle in the corners of his eye. Damian’s years of practice help to hold them back.

In the end, Damian is not the one who pulls away, but Jade.

Damian doesn’t know why that hurts more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I read a Tumblr post somewhere that said that DC has a formula about having non white moms as evil and mean and then having their white parents bring them into the light side with love and shit. I didn't realize that that was what was happening until now. SO you know what? GOOD MOM JADE AND GOOD MOM TALIA COMING UP! Because fuck that noise.


	6. Chapter 6

The entire endeavor makes perfect sense in Tim’s coffee-deficient mind. He stands on the front stoop of his house, peering down numerous steps to the paved walkway. (Fifteen in total, he counted.) 

This is fine. 

This is  _ totally _ fine. 

He is Red Robin. This is in no way terrifying. He will exit his safe haven and enter the wider unknown for glorious caffeinated substance, and  _ it will be fine _ .

_ Apparently, _ the company he employed to send him food refused to deliver three hundred pounds of dark roast coffee beans to a residential area, citing regulations of ‘ _ unsafe amounts’.  _ To quote Damian; Tt, cowards. After a strongly worded email and an even stronger worded phone call, the company refused to deliver him anything at all. This meant until Tim could research, vet, and order from another company, he would have to acquire what he wanted on his own. 

Tim wraps his coat tighter around himself. A bolt of lightning cracks in the distance. Rain pours from a grey, foggy, sky, a common occurrence in Gotham. So he, of course, opens his bright pink and green frog umbrella.

(A gift from his mother.)

Should worse come to worse - and in Gotham, it might - the heavy end should make for an effective bludgeoning weapon.

So here he stands, Timothy Jackson Drake, the once famed Red Robin, now a 12-year-old dressed in a large coat falling to his mid-thigh, a pink beanie covering his head, green rain boots protecting his feet, and a frog umbrella doubling as a makeshift weapon. 

He was the epitome of intimidation.

_ All would tremble before him. _

(Damian could never know. He. Could. Never. Know.

... _ never. _ )

Plodding down the steps, Tim treks across the soaked gravel driveway to the front gate. He waits patiently,  _ innocently,  _ at his gate for the taxi he called to arrive, when, out of nowhere, Jason Todd assaults him.

(Okay,  _ maybe _ assault was a strong word. Jason only  _ really _ walks up to him.)

The kid (by God, he was just a  _ kid _ ) stands under a black umbrella. No coat or hat, just jeans and a t-shirt and ratty shoes caked in mud. Curled damp hair clings to his head like he ran through the rain at top speed.

“Hey, you're the Drakes' kid, right?” Jason asks, with a roguish smile. He bounces on the tips of his toes with barely repressed energy. Happy and  _ alive _ . 

It was terrifying. Absolutely fucking terrifying.

Who gave this small child the right to utterly fuck with Tim’s brain? To layer this image of a bright and happy child with the sulking man he once knew? 

Certainly not Tim, and certainly not the future Jason Todd, may his jackass soul rest in peace.

“Yeah!” Tim’s voice raises three octaves from his normal tone, but he’s confident enough this kid-version of Jason will fail to recognize the oddity. 

Judging by the look Jason shoots Tim’s way, maybe he was wrong about that.

Tim wants to groan, but even that requires too much effort. His head aches from a lack of caffeine, he’s sleep-deprived, damp from torrential rains, and overall in an overwhelming amount of emotional pain. Seeing Bruce was one thing, but Jason? Tiny, happy, alive, with bright blue eyes, and not a clue what could happen, _ Jason? _ Fuck. 

Tim glances back over at the boy; Jason’s smile dimmed, gazing at Tim in… concern?? Nope, no,  _ nada _ . Worst had come to worst and it was time to bludgeon 15-year old Jason Todd with his frog umbrella. Tim was too fucking stressed to devise a more peaceful solution when,  _ ‘Hit thing making Timmy’s head and heart hurt,’  _ proved much easier.

Jason must notice the bloodlust in little Timmy’s eyes because he immediately backs the fuck up.

Caution? From Jason?? Tim’s brain can’t even begin to compute. He raises the end of his frog umbrella threateningly.

“Hey kid, let's not be hasty here. I didn't do nothing.” Jason brings up his hands in a pacifying manner but Tim refuses to care. His breath comes out in short, panicked, gasps, his vision swims, and Jason stands right there; concerned, cautious, bright, happy,  _ alive. _

He readies his weapon to hit the other boy when a honking disturbs him.

Tim turns. The taxi he ordered stalls a few feet away. Windshield wipers full blast, furiously trying to outpace the rain. The driver shoots Tim an annoyed frown and taps his wrist. 

Tim backs away from Jason, turns on his heel, and runs to the waiting car. He dives into the back seat and tells the driver to take him into the city. Out the rain-drop-covered window, as the taxi speeds off, Jason stands there; umbrella hanging by his side, utterly bewildered. 

Later, (much later) the twisted, sadistic little piece of himself (the one Tim tries so hard to ignore) will grin at the mental agony Jason must feel right now. Tim’s capacity to care ran out about the same time his coffee supply did. (The number of times Jason repeats the encounter in his head, trying to understand what the fuck happened would cause concern if anyone other than a Bat did it.)

But for now, Tim sighs, relaxing into the taxi’s worn leather seats. The panic, which invaded his head, slowly dissipates leaving him worn and ragged. Tim knew this time-travel thing would be hard. He just didn’t realize it would be  _ this  _ hard. 

* * *

Rain drizzles from the sky when Tim returns. He carries two full shopping bags; one filled with food, the other, coffee. Trudging up the driveway he spots Bruce, under an umbrella, standing on the front porch. Tim groans out loud at the sight. He stomps up the steps, glaring at the man. 

“What do you want?” Tim whines. 

Bruce’s vapidly surprised expression fails to lift Tim’s mood, in fact, it makes him want to punch the older man in the face.

“Oh, I wonder if I could talk to you about what happened with Jason this morning?

“No.” Tim’s intentions of discussing anything at length with Bruce rested at a big fat zero, zip,  _ nada _ . 

Bruce blinks, tilting his head in confusion, Tim’s complete refusal. Tim watches the master detective’s brain analyzing the encounter at breakneck speed. This is why Tim can’t risk a conversation. Bruce’s suspicions swim too close to the surface, and Tim can not have him snooping nearby. 

“I technically didn't hit him, so it really doesn't matter. Now if you excuse me, you're in the way of the door.” Bruce apparently misses the  _ extremely subtle  _ hint because he refuses to move out of the way.

“I just want to know why you’d want to hit him in the first place. I would like if you two became friends,” Bruce says, honest sincerity bleeding through his faked public persona. The man likely figures Tim is lonely and wants to help him out. He’s not wrong. 

Tim would spit on his help though. Not because he’s mean, but because it’s  _ necessary _ . Over the past few weeks, he worked over the problem of his and Damian’s displacement in time, and how they must deal with the consequences. They would change the future. They  _ intended  _ to change the future. It would not be easy, and it would not be fun. To circumvent what happened, to  _ save  _ everyone they knew and loved, even if  _ they _ no longer remembered them, would put him and Damian between so many rocks and hard places, Tim can’t even begin to calculate them all.

One step at a time though.

Telling Bruce, telling…  _ anyone,  _ sounds like a recipe for disaster in Tim’s book. He put off discussing it with Damian, but he hopes the brat will side with him. The fewer people who know the better. Besides, he and Damian could manage this by themselves. Bruce would only complicate their plans, as would anyone else from their family-that-was. 

Persistence was Bruce’s middle name though, which meant Tim needs to take drastic measures to shock the man away. 

“You want your 12-year-old neighbor to be friends with your 15-year-old son? That’s suspicious as fuck.”The small sadistic part of himself, the one that laughed at Jason’s earlier confusion, cackles in joy at Bruce’s wide eyes.

“Excuse me?” Bruce asks in complete and utter surprise at the conversation’s direction.

“I said no, nada, never. Now get off the property before I call the cops. You're giving me bad vibes and I refuse to end up a sex slave in your basement.” Was Tim acting a little too mean to a man only wanting to help him? Yes. Did he care? Also yes, but he can break down and feel bad about it later.

For now, he will savor the feeling of acting like a total dick. No wonder Damian and Jason constantly act like assholes if it fills them with this much dopamine.

Tim slips around Bruce, who stands there in shock. He quickly opens the door, gives Bruce a sarcastic wave, and shuts it in his face. Tim peeks through the peephole. Bruce reverts from shocked-ditzy-playboy neighbor to suspicious-as-fuck-vigilante detective. Giving a final wary glare at the door the man stalks out into the rain. 

Tim’s legs collapse beneath him and he slides to the floor. He never imagined time travel could be so exhausting, so  _ draining.  _ He covers his face with his hands and meters his breathing until positive he won’t spiral into a panic attack. 

When his legs no longer shake, and his stomach settles, he clambers to his feet and trods to the kitchen to put away the food. His stomach grumbles, and he sighs. Tim prepares a small snack and eats at the kitchen island, the sound of the old creaking house and the pattering rain his sole companions. A deep-rooted feeling of deja-vu sits heavy inside him. 

Great going, Tim.

He was gonna go to his room, turn off his lights, and cry now.

* * *

Tim wakes to a crack of lighting and immediately regrets it. His mind and body try to swim through a fog. His cheeks, tacky from dried tear tracts, serve as the only sign of his breakdown the night before. He groans, wishing he could pull the covers back over his head and slip into unconsciousness, but he’s too far gone to fall back asleep now. 

Darkened grey skies make it impossible to tell the time. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and rolls out of bed, his body protesting at the movements sucking up what little energy he gained from a sucky night’s sleep. He tosses off his six blankets, shivering as the cooler air hits his body. The heat is suffocating at times (It’s  _ July  _ in New Jersey, after all), but the weight is a comforting trade-off. He should give in and order a new weighted blanket, but he just… hadn’t yet. 

Tim throws a nasty glare at the rain-covered window, listening to roaring winds batter against the manor’s outer walls. Another day of awful weather, another day of no progress made on the holding cell. At this rate, they’ll be at it until Thanksgiving! 

He goes through his morning routine, then to the kitchen for breakfast. Scarfing down food before returning to his room and his computer. He skips changing out of his pajamas, unlike yesterday, he plans to stay in the house. Sitting at his computer, he opens his secret files and runs over his plans for the third time this week. The familiar motions are of little comfort, barely making a dent in the ocean of black and muck he finds himself swimming through. 

Now what?

Gotham’s digital world rests snugly under his thumb. Causing Tim to find himself a teensy weensy bit bored.

With weeks until summer finishes, not that he would subject himself to the tedious constraints of school, he finds his days unstructured. He could, of course, solve cold cases, but his guilt and hero complex would demand he sends the completed files to the GCPD, so the perpetrators could receive punishment. This would eventually obtain the Bat’s attention if he did it enough times.

Solving cases was a no-go.

Tim could stare at his ceiling replaying the last twelve years on repeat, searching and scanning for events he could intervene to better correct the timeline. However, he would have to create backup plans and contingencies for the resulting scenarios, fact check them against his future knowledge, and take into account possible deviations.

It sounded particularly obsessive. 

Even for him. 

He spins his desk chair around, the motion’s drag a pleasant sensation against his skin. What else could he do? 

Well, there were, in fact, other places in the world besides Gotham.

He stops his chair. 

The League of Assassins would stay off-limits. Tim would literally rather die than suck Damian into a stupid miscalculation on his end. He amends his criteria to  _ any  _ organization Ra’s might have a hand in. No need to attract attention, even indirectly. 

Leaving everywhere else at his mercy.

It needs to contain a big enough challenge to keep him occupied, but not too much of a challenge where the need to win will consume him entirely. Stakes high enough to motivate him, yet not too dangerous he can’t talk himself out of trouble if he lands there. Gaining something, besides staving off boredom, would be satisfying too. Information, bragging rights, annoying someone… 

The gears turning in Tim’s brain grind to a halt. A malicious smile, the first emotion to poke through his apathetic walls today, spreads across his face. Cracking his knuckles, one by one, he dives into his files. 

Lexcorp will learn to fear the name Timothy Jackson Drake.

He’ll later come to regret this decision.

* * *

Damian shifts on his haunches, a bead of sweat rolling down his face. His armored uniform built for stealth, protection, and the Arabian peninsula’s  _ dry  _ heat, becomes utterly intolerable faced with this humid mid-summer night. He shifts again, garnering the attention of Jade, who stares at him through the holes of her mask and curses his younger body. His mind may contain the finely tuned skills of years of vigilantism, but his five-year-old body did not.

The reality of this situation irritates him endlessly. 

Sitting on the rooftop of a nearby warehouse, they patiently watch the Wilsons’ hideout. The slow-moving Rh ô ne river meanders by a lot of run-down buildings. Damian swears every city near water suffers this same problem. Perhaps the true answer to ridding the world of crime was not vigilantes, but banning the construction of warehouses by water.

They’ve waited on this rooftop for two hours watching for their targets to enter their hideout. Rose Wilson, at this point in time, is studying under her father to become an assassin. Which means dealing with a teenager who could see into the future, and her merciless immortal dad.

Fucking lovely.

Shadows move in between the buildings, and two figures silently enter the warehouse. 

“You'll fight the target while I distract Slade. Incapacitate her as painlessly as possible, we’ll need to bring her back through airport security without raising suspicion.” Damian’s voice sounds odd and distorted coming from behind a mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Why are  _ you _ fighting Deathstroke?” Jade asks.

“Because I’m not currently pregnant.” It’s near impossible to tell the woman’s condition, loose folds of her uniform effectively disguise the minor baby bump. Not that Deathstroke would hold back if he knew. 

“Yes, but you’re five.” The argument appears logical from her perspective, Deathstroke would neither hold back when faced with a child, but Damian is well aware of his own limitations, nor is he actually a child. 

He pins her with an annoyed glare.

Jade throws her hands into the air, huffing. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when he stabs you.” She drops off the warehouse’s side and rappels to the ground. Damian rolls his eyes and follows her over the building’s edge, his stomach swooping as he falls. Hitting the ground without a sound. He scales the hideout to climb into a cracked window. 

Pausing on the catwalk in the cast of Jade’s shadow he peers into the open front room, taking in the lay of the land. The few walls in the warehouse separate the building, rafters stretch across the open ceiling. The catwalk runs around half the space. Scattered moonlight streams in through dirty windows, joining the weak light of flickering industrial lamps hanging from above.

Slade sits at a wooden table ladened with tech and weapons. His mask casually tossed next to him. He methodically cleans out a gun, tense but unaware of his new guests. 

Damian makes a hand motion and Jade silently disappears to find Rose. He inches closer to the catwalk’s rusted railing, observing Slade intently, a simmering green rage bubbling in his stomach.

In another future, Slade would betray his grandfather. In another future, Slade would take control of his body to try to kill Dick Grayson. In another future, Slade would attempt to emotionally ruin Damian.

In this future, he would never get the chance.

A full-frontal attack would never work. No, Damian needs to act sneaky. He extracts a roll of razor wire and begins to set his trap.

If all follows according to plan, his five-year-old body will never need to fight.

* * *

Jade slinks without a sound into the warehouse’s back section, her sharp eyes scouring the shadows for Rose Wilson. Below her mask, she purses her lips in annoyance. It grates on her sense of self-reliance that a five-year-old thinks she needs protection, but she can’t argue, not when her unborn child’s life hangs in the balance.

Jade craves stabbing something.

Conveniently, she now has the chance to accomplish just that.

A flitter of a shadow from the corner of her eyes is all the warning she receives before a weight crashes into her. 

They tumble, Jade holding back to observe the movements of her opponent before the younger woman pins Jade’s arms above her head.

“Who are you?” Rose Wilson, spits out. Luminous platinum blond hair spills over her shoulders, framing her angular face and one piercing blue eye, the other covered by a simple black eyepatch. Jade tilts her masked head, dark promises lurk in her movements.

“I’m Cheshire, and I’m about to break your bones.” A swift kick to Rose’s feet offsets the pressure on Jade’s hands. Using the momentary distraction, she reaches for the free-hanging hair and grabs a handful, tugging sharply. Jade flips the girl over her head and pins her to the floor. 

* * *

With the traps set and the die cast, the game could start. Damian crouches in the rafters, peering at the man below. Slade must have detected his presence by now, the man’s keen observation a known factor of his skill set. 

This is exactly what Damian intends.

Slade picks up the last weapon, a long-bladed katana. He sharpens it for a few seconds. The grating shear of metal against metal rings in the cavernous warehouse. Swiping his mask off the table, the older assassin secures it into place. He stands, sword at the ready. 

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Slade demands, his booming voice now mechanized by the mask. Damian grins, launching himself from the rafters to the dirty concrete floor below. 

He puffs out his chest, gripping his sword tightly, pointing it at the older man. “I am Damian, and I am here to engage in combat.” Damian lets his lisp come out full force. The overconfident and childish act is below his dignity, but no matter how embarrassing his actions appear, it would cause the man to underestimate him.

As expected, Slade laughs.

“A child? Which brain-dead bastard is stupid enough to send a  _ child  _ after me?” He readies a stance. Damian fakes a flinch even though he’s anything but scared. “I almost feel bad for you kid, you got the raw end of a deal.” Slade rushes him, sidestepping the first trap Damian set up. (He was one of the greatest mercenaries in the world after all.)

Slade leaps over the razor wire and takes two steps before Damian deems him close enough. He tightens his hand into a fist, pressing a trigger, and more than a dozen blades fly towards Slade from behind. He dodges the blades but triggers another trap in his attempt to get away. Slade spends the next few seconds dodging Damian’s traps. Inching ever closer to Damian waiting outside of his range.

The older man disables the second-to-last trap. “You sure came prepared kid, I’m kinda impressed. But I thought you were here to fight?” He lunges, but spots approaching armor-piercing tacks and flips into the air to avoid them. Damian takes the chance to shoot him with a fast-acting tranquilizer. It pierces the man’s armor, and less than five seconds later, Slade crashes to the ground groaning in pain. 

“Tt. I said “engage in combat” you backstabbing lunatic,” Damian sneers, striding over to the fallen man. “Fighting you one-on-one would be a useless endeavor. I merely utilized my advantages.” The mercenary groans and twitches, but fails to respond. Underneath his mask, Damian smirks, twisted and sharp. He injected a highly effective, but highly  _ painful, _ compound. It would leave the man unconscious for hours, and in pain for days. He’ll wake to a foggy memory, his contract fallen through, weapons gone, and daughter missing. 

“You deserve far worse,” Damian grits out from behind clenched teeth. The pain this man put his family through plays in his mind. He glares at the mercenary, delivering a swift kick to his ribs. The resulting groan pleases the vindictive beast curled inside his chest. Damian storms away before the temptation to stick the man with his own sword grew too great to resist. 

He spends the next few minutes collecting Slade’s weapons, intel, and supplies. Taking anything that further benefits his plans at a later date. If Damian chooses to utilize the time to calm the bubbling green rage in his blood, well… no one was there to point it out.

Once done, he leaves behind the large room to find Jade and Rose.

* * *

Rose tries not to show how much she  _ knows  _ she’s fucked; her lungs burn from not enough oxygen, her limbs, and side ache - she’s pretty sure she has a broken rib - and her scalp pulses in pain from where Cheshire  _ flipped  _ her using nothing but brute force and leverage. 

Her father may be a tough taskmaster, but, damn, whoever trained this woman pulled no punches. 

Rose dodges another kick, and dives for Cheshire’s stomach, aware of the retreat it would cause. Throughout the entire fight, Cheshire guards her stomach meticulously. So far, it appears like the woman’s only weakness. Her father’s voice whispers in Rose’s mind that if she utilizes it correctly she’ll have an easy win.

A warring battle inside her takes hold. Give in to the brutal and efficient methodology, or win the fight with her own skills? Cheshire takes another swipe at her, Rose manages to dodge it at the last second. Running on empty, and with no sign of her father in sight, she makes up her mind; the quick and dirty method it is. She positions herself to aim a brutal kick to the woman’s stomach, one she couldn’t dodge when Rose’s vision whitens and she drops into a vision from the future.

Digesting the information takes only a second, but what she learns stops Rose right in her tracks. 

Oh. 

_ Oh…  _

Apparently, her coming to a standstill means nothing to Cheshire who pushes harder trying to take advantage of her reluctance. Rose dodges. Their battle becomes less of a fight, and more a game of cat and mouse where the cat can’t land a hit.

She can’t believe it… 

She wouldn’t do  _ that _ , not even… 

She may be insane  _ sometimes,  _ but that didn’t mean… 

“Fight me, goddamnit!” Cheshire yells. Rose, unable to view the woman’s face, figures it must look pretty pissed.

“No,” Rose replies, flipping out of the woman’s reach.

Chesire growls. “Why the fuck not!”

“You-you're pregnant!” She may be an assassin in training, but she’s not about to kill a pregnant woman! And certainly… certainly not like  _ that _ … 

Rose shudders.

Cheshire freezes. The tension in the air fades. Both of them stand stock still, watching each other. Harsh and ragged breathing the only proof the two were alive, and not statues carved from stone. 

“Excuse me?” Cheshire asks, her voice low and tight.

Rose shifts back and forth on her feet, a sign of weakness her father would severely reprimand her for. “I- I can see the future and I hit you in the stomach. You started coughing blood and it was just really bad...” Rose admits, trailing off as the gruesome images play out in her mind. She omits to mention the inhuman shriek of agony Cheshire produced, or how the woman fell to her knees, cradling her stomach; a curtain of black hair covering her masked face, as her shoulders shook. 

Cheshire continues to stare, the unnerving painted mask blocks the emotions of her face, but the pin-straight and tense lines of her shoulders tell Rose everything she needs to know.

“If you care about Cheshire’s unborn child, you’ll come with us,” a young voice says from behind her.

Rose curbs a flinch, her training holding firm, but she does whip her head around searching for the voice’s source. A literal  _ toddler _ emerges from the shadows. Dressed in armor with a sword strapped to his side. He removes the mask covering the lower half of his face, and Rose blinks in shock at the haughty demeanor radiating off the child. A direct contradiction to the image his short stature and pudgy cheeks portray. 

Rose glances back at Cheshire to find out if this surprises her but the woman tilts her head, remaining silent at the boy’s arrival. The toddler gives a decisive nod, and the older assassin removes her mask to reveal watchful brown eyes accompanied by a sharp face. 

“Heir al Ghul,” the woman says, bowing her head, Rose detects a sense of relief in the words.

Cheshire must have hit her harder than Rose estimated because this didn’t make a lick of damn sense. “Whoa hold up! This pipsqueak is Ra’s al Ghul’s heir?”

“Yes,” the kid sneers. It’s far more adorable than intimidating, but Rose gives him an A+ for effort.

“Why the hell are you here?” Rose says slowly. This kid should be in a super-secret compound learning how to take over the world. The exact opposite of hunting down mercenaries in the south of France. “And where is my father?” Rose can’t believe he hasn’t shown yet. 

The adorable sneer on al Ghul’s face turns far scarier. “Your father will not join us this evening.” The boy’s sharp tone could cut steel. Rose resists the urge to shiver; she’s fought gods, and metas, and gone from civilian, to Titan, to assassin - a  _ child  _ should not scare her. Even a child capable of putting her father out of commission “ “His condition should not concern you. Only your own; if you truly wish to protect Cheshire’s unborn child, you will come with us.” 

Rose scoffs, tightening her fists, desperately wishing for a weapon.“Why the fuck would going with you, help protect Cheshire’s spawn? Also why the fuck would I care?” She ignores the miscarriage’s gruesome mental image swimming in her mind. Misplaced guilt bubbles in her stomach for actions she didn’t commit. 

The boy strolls closer, he appears utterly composed surrounded by people far older and more dangerous. “My grandfather assigned me an impossible task; kidnapping a skilled mercenary that can see the future. He wishes for me to fail.” He speaks in perfect English, although a tiny lisp sneaks into his words. Rose resists the urge to shift as his eyes rake over her, taking her apart, observing her every move. 

“Normally, I would swallow my pride and take my punishment with grace and humility.” Rose withholds a scoff, the last word she would use to describe the child in front of her is  _ humble _ . 

“However, I can not risk such actions when one punishment my grandfather threatened is killing Cheshire. Failure is not an option when more than my life is on the line.” 

He comes to stand in front of her, his vibrant green eyes glowing eerily in the warehouse’s dim lighting. “You are a good woman, as your reluctance to engage in combat once aware of the consequences clearly demonstrates. I ask that you come with us. I will allow no harm to come to you. I will claim you under my protection as I claimed Cheshire if I must.” His words were a solemn oath and Rose didn't know what to do with that information.

On one hand, why should she care about a random assassin and her kid boss? On the other, he was a  _ kid, protecting a pregnant woman from the extensive reach of Ra’s al Ghul. _ He was a kid who talked of punishment like it was natural and expected. She didn't need to wonder what kind of punishment he would suffer, she has first-hand knowledge.

But it was different for her, she chose this, he didn’t.

A jagged knife wound, running down the length of her calf, pulses in pain. A mild  _ correction  _ from her father delivered earlier in the evening. Rose has  _ nothing  _ but her father and his approval to live for; no other family, and pretty solidly burnt bridges with the Titans. The mass inside her chest, whenever she turns to him for approval, burns when he brushes off her attempts with indifference in the best cases and rebuke and  _ correction  _ in the worst. 

“How much of a choice do I actually have?” she asks. 

The young toddler shrugs his shoulders. “The choice is yours whether you come willingly-” he narrows his eyes, tightening the hand resting on his sword, “-or not.” So, not much of a choice at all. Alright then.

Haltingly, she takes a step towards the young child. Out of the corner of her eye, Cheshire tenses, but does not move to intervene. Rose kneels in front of him, peering straight into those unnerving eyes. 

“You’ll keep me safe?” If she left, the full force of her father’s contacts would bear down on her relentlessly.

The boy nods. “With my life if necessary.” 

Rose glances over at Cheshire. “Does the kid keep his word?” 

The older assassin’s face softens a fraction. “He speaks the truth.” 

Rose’s lips break into a crooked grin. “Coolio. Hanging with my old man was boring anyway.” She shoves a hand at the kid. “Rose Wilson, nice to meet ya.” 

He regards it with cool distaste, but slips his tiny hand into hers and shakes it. “Damian al Ghul. Heir to the League of Shadows,” he says, with decorum and seriousness. Oh, he must be the life of the party; she’ll have fun teasing this little imp.

“And your name, pussy cat?” Rose asks Cheshire. The woman sneers and replaces the mask back on her face, disappearing into the shadows. Rose turns to Damian, who distinctly appears like he regrets several life choices. It’s a funny look on the face of a toddler. 

“Her name is Jade. You would do best not to antagonize her. I watched your fight; she was winning.” He turns sharply on his heel. “Come. We have much to accomplish before our departure.” Rose smiles at his prickly demeanor. Oh yeah, this would be way more fun than hanging with the stuffy Titans or dealing with the endless expectations of her father. Plus, it helps that Cheshire looks pretty hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank New Yorker girl not only for the idea of Jade/Rose, but also for helping me come up with a way to get them to meet.
> 
> Okay, now for Rose’s powers. So I know that they retconned her powers to make it work more like Cass but I’m gonna screw around a bit and make it so that while it works like that most of the time sometimes she’ll get visions of the future.
> 
> That way I appease everyone or no one at all.
> 
> Also, I realized I never said everyone's ages  
> Roy is 21  
> Jade is 20
> 
> Dick is 20  
> Jason is 15  
> Cass is 15  
> Steph is 14  
> Tim is 12 (24)  
> Damian is 5 (17)
> 
> Edited: 3/8/21   
> IcedAquarius: Hey guys, really excited to be a coauthor on this story! This chapter was a blast to work on and expand, I hope you enjoy re-reading it with all the new info and interactions.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim was this close to ripping his hair out.

What the fuck? What the fuck.

How was it that in less than a month Tim was able to have almost total digital control over Gotham, yet Lexcorp was always one step ahead.

How?!

Every time he tried to hack in he was blocked.

Once he had made it in and but had been booted not even three hours later. Luckily that was enough time to put in his own backdoor but three of the five holes he had made had been found.

Getting in had been a total nightmare.

At this point, he was just having a constant chess match with whoever or whatever was keeping him out.

(it was fun)

And he hated it.

But today was the day, he had finally made a stronghold.

It would take them at least a few days to totally dismantle everything, enough time to sink his greedy gremlin hands into the mainframe.

A knock at his door disturbed him.

Tim blinked once, then twice, then a third time.

Another knock was made.

Tim got up with a groan and stumbled to the front door. God, he hoped it wasn't Bruce coming in for round two.

Although, now that he thought about it maybe Bruce would be preferable to fucking LEX LUTHOR.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck

Why? Why must god do these things to him?

Instead of saying any of that out loud though he instead smiled politely and hoped desperately that Bruce didn't know Lex was there.

It would put a damper on his kidnapping plans.

“Hello, how can I help you?” Tim asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

“Are your parents home?” Lex asked, his hands tugging on the sleeves of his suit.

“I’m afraid not” Tim wasn't about to throw his parents under the bus, not about this.

“May I ask where they are?” Lex probed.

“No,” Tim narrowed his eyes, just daring the other man to say something more on the subject.

“May I ask if there are any other adults on the premises,” Lex asked instead.

“There’s the housekeeper, but she’s just gone home,” Tim lied through his teeth. Make Lex think it’s some random maid instead of him.

“Your lying,” Lex told him.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, your lying. You fired the housekeeper weeks ago and your parents are abroad on an archaeological dig. Your home alone, which means that your the one that’s been hacking into my company,” Lex said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Tim opened the door wider, there was no way they were having this conversation outside, especially when Batman lived next door.

The two walked to the living room and Tim made a gesture for Lex to sit down. The two sat down across from one another and Tim stared the man down, his bat glare in full use.

Lex seemed taken aback by it but he quickly got back into his cocky attitude.

“So, your Timothy Drake, genius hacker extraordinaire. Your good, better than good even, but not better than me,” Lex said arrogantly.

“You're the one that’s been stopping me?” Tim asked in surprise.

“I’m not just a businessman you know, I’m a genius too,” Lex said like this was common knowledge, which it was.

“Alright, I’ll bite, what do you want? To press charges? To kill me? To ask me to stop?”

“No, nothing like that, I wanted to ask you to come work for me,” Lex smiles.

“I'm 12” Tim deadpans.

“Yes, your young, which means you have plenty of time to learn. See, I’m unable to have children,” Tim fondly remembered Kon and called bullshit, “no natural-born children that is. But I have a company, a large one that needs an heir. Your smart, hard-working, and not afraid to get your hands dirty. You're the perfect candidate,” Lex's smile was shark like.

Tim wanted to refuse out of principle, it was ridiculous. He was Red Robin, a vigilante and a hero. He regularly took down Lex.

But then, a thought, Damian was planning to take down the League, and to do that he needed allies.

Tim was with him a hundred percent but there wasn't much he could offer besides digital support.

If he became Lex’s heir though, he could offer resources and money. Damian was making the hard decisions to make a better future, now it was his turn.

Plus, Lex had been one of the people that helped Ra’s in his apocalypse, however accidental that help may have been.

“I have parents,” Tim reminded him, mind already whirling with possibilities.

“Parents, that aren't even here most of the time?” Lex tries to manipulate. Tim gives him an amused smile.

“Yes,” he says honestly. Lex frowns at that before shaking it off.

“Call them, I’ll draw up some adoption papers and they just need to sign,” Lex gets up and Tim quickly jumps to his feet too.

“If I agree to this I need at least another three months in Gotham to take care of some unfinished business as well as the freedom to call and meet my parents and friends whenever I want,” Tim’s quick to barter.

“Unfinished business?” Lex asks.

“None of your concern, don't worry it won't negatively impact Lexcorp,” Tim assures. Lex gives him a look but accepts this with a nod.

“Alright, a except your terms,” the two walk to the door, shake on their deal, and then go their separate ways. Tim back to his room and Lex back to his car.  
Tim sits on his bed and considers his options.

He should probably come up with a more permanent solution to the Joker if he’s not even going to be living in Gotham to keep an eye on him.

He also needs to convince his parents to sign the papers. He’ll ask his mother, she’ll sign no questions asked. Despite how little she showed it, she really did just want the best for him, and if she thought Lex was the best for him then she’d sign without hesitation.

He also needed to call Damian and let him know of the change of plans.

Tomorrow, he’d do it tomorrow. He was too tired today.

Damian, Jade, and Rose were all on a plane together. He wished he could make a quick stop to England and get Constantine’s Twin Blade but he wasn't about to fuck around with Jade’s life.

He’d just need to come back at a later time.

“So, what’s the gender?” Rose asks an hour into their flight.

“I don't know” Is Jade’s curt reply.

“Any name ideas?” Rose tries to ask. 

Damian feels like banging his head against a wall.

A five-year-old killer, a pregnant assassin, and a dangerous mercenary all sit in a plane together. Sounds like a bad joke but is actually just a different form of torture for all those involved.

“It’s a girl” Damian interrupts before Jade can open her mouth and ruin the peace. Their sitting with civilians, he refuses to let any of them die just because one of the two highly dangerous women sitting next to him got angry.

An annoying crying from three rows down makes his head throb.

“How would you know that?” Rose asks, her arms crossed.

“I just do,” Damian says shortly.

“A girl?”Jade looks up from where she was staring down at the window to look at him.

“Yes, she’ll have red hair,” Damian says, trying to remember any other physical features the child had had. Jade smiles at the image.

“That’s genetically impossible,” Rose interrupts.

“Your genetically impossible” Damian shoots back.

“Low blow”

“Shut your mouth and maybe I won't need to give low blows,” Damian sneers.

“Hey I’m just trying to make conversation” Rose gets all up in his face and Damian regrets taking the middle seat. He should have demanded the window.

“Yeah well you chose a shit topic to talk about” Damian doesn't inch away no matter how much he wishes he could, he will not be bullied by her.

“Normal moms love talking about their kids!” Rose tries to defend.

“And what made you think Cheshire, a skilled assassin, would not simply take it as a threat,” Damian asks.

“I figured she had common sense, my bad, I won't assume anymore,” Rose says sarcastically.

“You two are giving me a headache” Jade groans. She puts her head and her hands and simply breathes for a while.

They both immediately quiet. For maybe two minutes.

“So, your Talia’s kid right?” Rose asks.

“Yes,” Damian grits out.

“What’s that like? Does she treat you well or is she a total bitch?” Rose asks as she cleans out the dirt from under her nails.

There is complete silence, even the baby has stopped crying.

“What did you just say about my mother?” Damian demands, his voice screaming danger.

“I asked if she was a bitch,” Rose says with a smirk.

They were no longer allowed to fly on that particular airline.

Damian blamed Rose, Jade blamed Rose, and Rose whistled innocently as their luggage was thrown out.

“I despise you,” Damian seethes.

“Love you too buckeroo,” Rose says mockingly, clearly not knowing the saying about poking the bear.

“Shut the fuck up Wilson before you make us kill you mission be damned,” Jade hisses.

“Hey, your kid boss promised that no harm would come to me if I came so no take backsies” Rose sung. Damian looked on at the proceedings with dead eyes.

“Technically he’s your kid boss too,” Jade sneered.

“...shit” 

“Shit indeed” Damian finally interrupted.

“So maybe take backsies are on the table after all” Rose said consideringly.

“No,” Damian said with an eye roll. Jade looked at him pleadingly but Damian wasn't about to be convinced by puppy dog eyes.

Rose joined Jade in her puppy dog eyes but still, Damian held strong. He had the advantage of dealing with Dick Grayson for literal years.

No one had better puppy dog eyes that Dick Grayson, no one.

Though Tim was a close second whenever he tried. Maybe because of how rare it was or how blue his eyes were but Damian could never deny him when he employed his eyes. Thankfully Drake was tactful enough to only use them every once a while instead of Dick’s near-constant use.

The three eventually made their way to the current base. Once they were in Damian called a servant and asked them to tell Ra’s they were here.

The look of utter terror on the servents face made Damian feel slightly bad but he doubted that his grandfather would kill them.

The three waited patiently for Ra’s to finally give them an audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for that one commenter that asked for a new chapter.
> 
> Also, I bet almost none of you expected Tim to take over Lexcorp. I came up with the idea while writing chapter 4 because I felt like Damian was doing most of the world changing while Tim was stuck at home waiting.
> 
> Tim's still gonna need to wait for two or so months before he can leave Gotham but now he has a plan.
> 
> Also I wanted to have him to be friends with Kon.


	8. Chapter 8

“I see,” Janet’s voice said softly. Tim waited patiently to hear the conclusion she would come to.

“Well, he’s a supervillain, but a rich one. I expect that you asked for visiting rights for us?” his mother asked.

“Of course mom,” Tim rolled his eyes. Even as an actual 12-year-old he would never have forgotten such a thing.

“Good, I’ll need to meet him first before any major decisions can be made but so far as long as he keeps you out of his illegal schemes then I see no problem with this. You will, of course, still be heir to Drake Industries. It’s your birthright and no adoption will get in the way of that. This is a wonderful opportunity and with his side job being so dangerous there might even be a chance you’ll inherit early” Janet Drake was a ruthless woman and everyone who said otherwise clearly didn't know her.

“Mom” Tim whined.

“Don't take that tone with me Timothy I’m only looking out for your best interests,” his mother said sternly. Tim lowered his head and gave a noise of acknowledgment.

“Good, now tell me if this is something you truly wish. I know how enamored you are with heroes so you’ll pardon my disbelief in your sudden turn about behavior,” Janet said dryly. Tim blushed at the subtle insult.

“I need to think of my future mom,” Tim told her, knowing that she’d fall for it. It wasn't like he was lying anyway, he really was thinking of the future.

“I’m proud of you Tim,” Janet told her son honestly. 

Tim felt like crying.

Fucking shit just rip his heart out why don't you.

“Thanks, mom,” Tim said softly.

“I’m only telling you the truth. Now, I need to leave, your father has found an interesting artifact he is certain is from an ancient race,” Tim could practically hear her fond eye roll.

She hung up and Tim was left staring at his phone.

He’s been Tim Drake, then Tim Drake-Wayne, and now he’d be Tim Drake-Luthor.

It was a change that was for sure.

Now he just needed to tell Damian.

Fuuuuuuck.

Tim was outside.

It was a nice day.

The birds were singing.

The sky was blue.

And Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne were staring daggers at him.

It was a nice day.

Or it would have been if they would just stop fucking staring!

“May I help you?” Tim finally asked after a few seconds of blatant staring and blatant ignoring.

“Yeah, what the fuck was Lex Luthor doing at your house?” Jason asked bluntly. Bruce hisses out a reprimand but Jason simply stares at Tim.

It was honestly making Tim a little uncomfortable.

“He was wondering when my parents might come home,” Tim tells them.

“And why the fuck would he want to know that?” Jason asks incredulously.

“He, mom, and dad are all in a club together. They’re making a secret room that they think I don't know about,” both Bruce and Jason choke as they absorb what Tim had just told them.

That’s right, go on and think that Lex Luthor and Jack and Janet Drake were getting freaky.

“A club?” Bruce asks cautiously. 

“Yeah, I’m like fifty percent they’re just torturing each other for some reason. There’s a lot of screaming whenever Mr. Luthor comes over,” Tim says absentmindedly.

Jason starts laughing and Bruce looks absolutely horrified.

“Screaming?” Jason asks with a hiccup as Bruce turns to look at him, making a gesture to cut it the fuck out. Jason ignores him.

“And groaning. I complained about the sound to mom once and that’s why they're making a soundproof room,” Tim shrugs and then goes back to simply enjoying the outdoors.

“Wait no I need more details!” Jason tries to shout as Bruce hurries him inside. He gives Tim an apologetic look before going back inside himself.

Tim stays outside for a few minutes before going back into his house.

As soon as the door closes he lets out the laughter that he had struggled desperately to keep contained.

Tears stream down his face as he chokes on his laughter.

“I’m sorry you did what?” Damian asks.

“I got adopted by Lex Luthor,” Tim cleans under his nails as Damian takes in this information.

“I despise you,” Damian says with passion.

“Oh come on you know this is a great idea. With Lex’s resources, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to take over the League,” Tim rolls his eyes.

“While that might be true I know you, Drake. Your morels are ironclad and your sense of justice is awe-inspiring. You're too good to get caught up in something like this,” Damian tells him sincerely. On one hand, it makes his heart warm, but on the other it makes Tim want to hit Damian on the head.

“You're saying it like you're not just as good as me. You’ve been making the hard decisions and it’s time I contributed to the cause. How else are we going to stop the apocalypse?” Tim's words are firm.

“There are other ways,” Damian tries to reason.

“None as quick as this. I want this Damian, I want to take over Lexcorp,” Tim admits. He plays with his sleeve and waits for Damian's response.

“Fuck, fuck,” Damian says heatedly. A few minutes of silence go by as Tim waits for Damian to absorb this information.

“Okay, okay we can do this. Just- promise me that as soon as you feel like you need to get out you’ll tell me. I don't give a flying fuck if you feel like doing this will help in stopping the apocalypse, you're my partner, and I need you at optimal condition. Your mental health is more important than the mission,” Damian’s words are firm and Tim feels his heartbeat just a little bit faster at the words.

“It’s the same for you! I- I mean that it’s the same for you. You know that right?” Tim rambles slightly, wondering if he had told Damian that.

“Thank you, Timothy,” Damian says softly. 

Tim smiles and they spend a few seconds just breathing together.

“Um, anyway, I- I need to leave. Goodbye Drake,” Damian says quickly before hanging up. Tim’s left staring at his phone and wondering what possibly could have happened to make Damian so nervous, he hopes that it wasn't something too important.

Damian looked down at his phone, heart racing, and face burning. Fuck, why was he like this?

He spent a few minutes trying to make himself go back to normal before he felt confident enough to go back.

“Are you done with your talk already?” Jade asks as Damian comes back from where he had hidden.

Ra’s had yet to see them and it had been four hours since they had made it to the base.

Damian wondered if this was his way of punishing them since he could no longer kill Jade and whip Damian.

“Who were you talking to anyway?” Rose asks.

“Don't bother asking. Damian’s always been hush hush about that particular secret,” Jade says. Damian has never been more thankful to her. He knew she knew that he was talking to someone from the Drake family in Gotham, but she had never snitched on him.

“Why the secrecy brat?” Rose looks way too invested in this conversation.

“So killers like you don't get cocky and try to hurt the only person I give a flying fuck about,” Damian spits out. It leaves his mouth before he can stop himself and Damian immediately wishes he had just kept his goddamn mouth shut.

“Your grandpa know about your little special someone?” Rose sneers.

“No, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll keep your mouth shut,” Jade cuts in. Has Damian mentioned that he loves her?

“Hey, I didn't say nothing, I’m just curious is all” Rose defends.

“Well stop being curious and start minding your own business. You're not Alice in Wonderland, and frankly? You're not nearly young enough to pull it off. Sorry to say this grandma but your ancient,” Damian is quick to insult.

“The fuck you just say to me?” Rose asks, taken aback.

“You gonna tell me that the white hair isn’t another sign of your old age? The first of course being the fact your senile,” Damian mocks.

“You little shit!” Rose shouts, getting up and ready to attack.

“Hold up, Damian’s on to something. Let’s list this out. White hair, senile, bad eyesight,” Jade puts up a finger with each added point, as though counting it out.

“Are you seriously making jokes about the fact I only have one eye!?” Rose asked incredulously.

“Yes,” both Jade and Damian say in unison.

Before the three could continue however a voice cuts in.

“You may now see the Demon Head,” a servant tells them.

The three get up and enter the throne room.

Ra’s sits on his throne and looks down at them in destain.

His mother stands slightly behind the throne. She only has eyes for Damian however. Her eyes sweep over his body as she looks to see if he has any injuries. She relaxes slightly when she sees that he’s fine.

Damian had forgotten that she used to do that.

“I see you have succeeded in your mission. Congratulations are in order I suppose,” Ra's says sarcastically.

“I do not need congratulations. Rather, I would much prefer permission to employ Ms. Wilson as one of my vassals” Damian watches as his grandfather becomes an ugly shade of red.

“Excuse me?” his voice is dangerous but Damian's more concerned about what to call the color he's becoming.

“I would like for Rose Wilson to become one of my servants,” Rose makes a sound at that but Jade is quick to hit her in the stomach.

“That was not the mission,” Ra's grits out.

“No, my mission was simply to bring her here. I have brought her before you and now I ask that you allow her to be useful to me,” Damian shrugs. Rose goes to open her mouth again but Jade hit's her again before she can manage it.

“Father, I must agree with Damian. To kill her would be a waste and to forever make an enemy of Slade. It would be more favorable to the al Ghuls’ to simply keep her as one of our assassins,” Talia speaks for the first time. Damian blinks in surprise at the sight of her helping him.

“I understand the logic of that, but why should she be given to Damian when I can simply put her somewhere else,” Ra’s asks, his eyes considering.

“Damian is the one who brought her here and I have no doubt that she will only listen to Damian. If you simply send her on a mission without Damian she will just run back to her father. Better her willing and on our side, the unwilling and back with her father,” Talia is quick to explain. Her words are snakes that slither into the ears of men and bend them to her will.

And just as so many men before, Ra’s bends.

“Very well, I will allow this,” Ra’s says with a nod. Talia smiles thankfully at her father before hurrying Damian, Jade, and Rose out of the hall.

The four walk to Damian’s chambers.

“Damian, my love are you well?” Talia asks worriedly as they walk. Her voice hides her worry well but Damian catches it.

“Of course Mother,” Damian says without looking at her. It hurts to look at her.

Talia stops walking. Damian stops with her.

Jade and Rose continue to walk after Damian gives them a nod.

Talia, his mother (his murderer a voice whispers) looks at him with concern and love in her eyes.

She takes a step forward and Damian restrains himself from flinching.

She wraps her arms around him and Damian stands stiffly against her as she holds him close.

Eventually, after a few seconds, he relaxes into her hold.

How long has it been since he had been hugged by his mother?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter wasn't as comedic as the other ones but I just had a whole emotional thing happen and I just really needed to write some good moms.
> 
> anyway here are the ages again.  
> Roy is 21   
> Jade is 20  
> Rose is 22
> 
> Dick is 20  
> Jason is 15  
> Cass is 15  
> Steph is 14  
> Tim is 12 (24)  
> Damian is 5 (17)


	9. Chapter 9

Tim was sunbathing on his porch, a juice box in one hand and a phone in the other.

“Holy shit you're actually outside? Not gonna lie I totally thought you were just a shitty cryptic that lived in Drake manor and fed off of misery,” Jason’s unwelcomed voice interrupts any calm Tim had managed to cultivate.

“Keep a close eye on your teeth, I might have to steal them if you keep talking trash,” Tim says with closed eyes. 

(Tim tried to ignore the fact that he was having a conversation to what basically amounted to the before picture of Lazarus soothing waters!)

“I- that’s an imaginative threat,” Jason says slowly

“I’m an imaginative person”

Jason didn't have anything to say to that. 

“Mr. Luthor,” Tim greeted pleasantly as his phone hung between his shoulder and his ear.

“Timothy” Lex answered just as pleasantly. 

The two engage in careful small talk for a little while before Lex finally asks what he had been meaning to ask in the first place.

“Will your business in Gotham conclude soon?” Tim hums slightly at the question before mentally calculating the time that there was still left before the basement was finished.

“Only one more month before I’m able to come live in Metropolis with you. Hopefully, my parents will return home by then and you can work out the custody issues,” Tim twirled the cord of the landline.

“Lovely. But before that, I have a slight question,” Lex’s voice makes Tim straighten up.

“Ask away,” Tim says slowly.

“What are your thoughts on Superman?” Tim feels like banging his head against the wall.

Lex

Lexi

Luthor

wHhHhYyyyyyy

Tim knows exactly what Lex wants to hear.

And who is he to get in the way of that?

But he needs to be careful, he needs to make sure that he treads a careful line between has-their-own-opinions and Is-a-wet-napkin-that-folds-at-the-slightest-bit-of-resistance.

“I believe that for now he should be left as he is, until of course, he crosses a line. Then he should be exterminated without prejudice,” it wasn't even like Tim was really lying, Batman and the rest of the brood always went by that philosophy.

“Oh?” Lex seemed to perk up and Tim immediately knew that he caught the man.

“Yes, it seems rather stupid to fully trust a being many have equated to a god,” was Tim deliberately saying the things that he knew would get Lex going? 

Yes. 

“How do you think such a thing should be accomplished?” Lex asked interestedly.

Then, Tim had an idea. A grin stole over his lips.

“I know of your cloning experiments, I believe that you're going in the right direction,” Tim can barely hold back the utter glee that was bursting at the seams.

“How?” Lex’s voice turns dark but Tim’s far more concerned with trying not to dance around happily.

“You forget that I was in your database for quite a while before you visited me,” Tim rolls his eyes and hopes Lex can feel it.

Lex pauses for a moment before continuing on as though he hadn't about to just murder Tim for knowing something he shouldn’t.

“So you feel as though I'm morally right if I continue with the cloning?” Tim knew that he had to tread carefully here. He refused to screw things up for Con.

“Of course not, I’m not a fool Mr. Luthor. I know full well that you're violating several natural laws as well as several moral ones. The fact of the matter is that sometimes the ends justify the means,” Tim knows that fact first hand seeing as some of the things that he and Damian have had to do to get to this point would make even the fiercest of assassins balk.

“I see. I’m glad you feel that way, Timothy,” Lex sounded pleased and Tim breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wouldn't have agreed to be your heir if I hadn't agreed with at least some of your ideas,” Tim pointed out, lying through his teeth.

“I suppose that’s true,” Lex acknowledged.

The two continued onto small talk territory before they finally said their goodbyes.

Tim sighed into his hands as soon as the phone was off.

Fuck, you know what he needed? 

He needed some orange juice.

Tim sat on the steps just outside of the grocery store. He had only bought one item. 

A large jug of orange juice.

It was a family size jug of orange juice.

Tim unscrewed the cap.

He tilted it up and guzzled it down.

The kids across the street stopped and stared.

The old woman feeding the pigeons stopped and stared.

The man breaking into a car stopped and stared.

The woman running from the cops stopped and stared.

The cops chasing the woman stopped and stared.

Tim continued to guzzle down his orange juice, completely oblivious to the small crowd of people he was attracting to his general vicinity.

He stopped by the time he was two thirds through.

“How the fuck?” the confused old woman who was feeding the pigeons asked.

“I donno, magic maybe,” the would-be car thief answered, dazed.

“He’s so small,” one of the cops whispered.

“Right!?” the woman who was previously running away nodded wildly.

“Yo, orange juice! You wanna slow down a little?” one of the kids shouted.

“No!” Tim shouted back, possessive hoarding his orange juice.

For a few moments, there was silence before everyone got right back into gear.

The woman ran and the cops chased.

The old woman threw some seeds onto the ground and the pigeons came flying.

The kids kicked a ball to each other.

And the car thief went back to trying to break in.

Just another day in Gotham, Tim thought fondly.

Damian scowls at his grandfather.

“Grandfather, we have just returned from a strenuous trip, we need a slight bit more time to recuperate before we can go back to optimal fighting capabilities,” Damian says through gritted teeth.

“Are you saying that you are too weak to successfully fulfill your mission?” Ra’s sneers.

“No, I am simply acknowledging that sometimes one needs to rest to better prepare,” Damian could practically hear Dick cooing in the back of his head for ‘being such a good boy!’

“You are the Demon’s heir, such rules should never apply to you” Ra’s sits upon his golden throne and Damian wishes more than anything he could throw the man off the ugly thing.

“Perhaps not, but I am still five” Damian tries to remind.

“Age does not matter when you have already shown yourself above it,” Damian curses himself for not acting more age appropriate.

“At least give us a day” Damian’s this close to begging. Not for himself mind you, but for Jade. The woman was growing wearier and wearier as the days went by.

“N-” Ra’s starts to say before Talia cuts in.

“Father? If I may be so bold as to interrupt?” Talia asks sweetly. Ra’s falls for it almost immediately.

Damian wonders how his mother hasn't just taken over already.

“Speak daughter” Ra’s nods.

“Lady Shiva is a close friend of mine, as you well know, and she has recently told me of a daughter she had conceived oh so many years ago,” Talia says carefully.

Damian stiffens, both Rose and Jade look at him in concern. He makes a subtle hand motion that all was well. The two relax once more behind him.

“All this I already know Talia, do not try my patience,” Ra’s says, annoyed.

“I simply wish to inform all parties still not informed,” Talia’s eyes flicker over to Damian, and Ra’s eyes follow.

“Yes, well you have done your part, get on with it,” Ra’s waves a hand and Talia continues.

“Her daughter is currently training under her father, David Cain, to be your bodyguard. I believe it would be beneficial to the league as a whole if she becomes a member of Damian’s team,” Talia’s words make Damian want to bang his head against a wall.

God, he loves his sister more than anything, but if anyone can figure out that somethings up it’s her.

“And why is that?” Ra’s asks. Damian prays that he’ll deny Talia’s request and then immediately feels bad.

What if by accepting her into his task force he’ll cut down at least a little bit of the trauma. Isn't it worth it? What does it matter that she might find out?

Damian straightens. He must help his Mother convince Ra’s to let Cassandra be brought into his service, anything to get her away from David Cain.

“What good is a weapon that has never been tested? This will be a simple trial run until it can be firmly determined that the girl is up to the task of protecting you. Besides, it seems like such a waste of talent to simply make her train all day without any pay off until years into the future,” Talia tries to reason.

Ra’s face is thoughtful and Damian knows it’s time to strike.

“An extra member will help considerably in making the missions go faster. Besides, it will help her in dealing with real threats rather than whatever fabricated ones her father has come up with,” Talia’s proud smile makes Damian’s heartache.

“Very well, you have convinced me. I will allow this. You will be given leave until David Cain can deliver his daughter to the base,”

“Thank you, grandfather,” Damian says with a bow. Rose and Jade immediately bow with him and the three hurry to leave the hall.

“What the fuck was that!?” Rose whispers/yells.

“That was Damian giving us time off and an extra pair of hands,” Jade snarks back.

“Actually that was more Talia than me,” Damian says with a grimace. Both Jade and Rose scrunch up their faces.

“I swear I never know what’s going on in that woman’s head,” Jade shutters slightly and Rose smirks at her.

“And you never will,” someone interrupts.

All three tense up at the sound of Talia’s voice.

“Mother” Damian greets respectfully.

“My love,” Talia says lovingly. She reaches out a hand and holds Damian’s cheek.

Damian forces himself to lean into it.

“May I ask why you felt the need to give us David Cain’s spawn?” Damian says with a raised eyebrow. Talia laughs at the expression, her face softening.

“It’s less I’m giving you Cain’s spawn and more I’m giving you Shiva’s spawn,” Talia’s eyes are warm as they look straight into Damian’s soul.

Has his mother always looked at him this way?

“What do you mean?” Rose can't help but ask. Jade hisses at her but Talia ignores both of them to answer the question she knows is burning in Damian’s young mind.

“Shiva won't admit it, but she feels something for the girl she gave up. It’s small and barely noticeable, but it’s there. Whether that means that she would hesitate to kill her in battle or that she would like to hug her I don't know, and frankly, I don't care one way or the other. But, despite many many things, I respect Shiva and because of that respect, I will help her daughter. Do with her what you will, my work is done and I no longer care,” Talia says with a shrug before departing.

“Talia’s a bitch” Rose feels the need to say.

Damian closes his eyes.

“Wilson, if you don't shut the fuck up I’m going to drop kick you into the sun,” Jade threatens before Damian even has the chance to open his mouth.

“Why are you up in arms about this! It ain't like she’s your mother!” Rose tries to defend.

“No, she’s just our employer’s mother! Now, stop talking!” 

The two continue to bicker and Damian feels a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while, school has been kicking my ass.
> 
> but on another topic...
> 
> Just incase I wasn't all that clear, Talia didn't rape Bruce in this fic. She still kills Damian that one time (because it’s like really important and I can't just leave it out) but I’m gonna blame that on pit madness.
> 
> Look, I think it’s really important to have female rapists depicted in the media because they exist and need to be talked about more often.
> 
> But I find it real fucking sus that one of the most famous female comic book characters someone thinks about when thinking of a female rapist is also one of the few middle eastern characters.
> 
> And I don't know if I talked about this before in my author notes but Talia was originally supposed to be a more gray character like Catwoman, except actually gray (let's be honest when has Catwoman ever sided with the villains when real shit was about to go down)
> 
> The problem with this is that over time they just made her more and more villainous, completely forgoing the idea that she was ever supposed to be gray in the first place.
> 
> Then the whole rape thing happened (fuck you Grant Morrison) and then Talia basically killed Damian.
> 
> And that’s kinda when I started to lose hope.
> 
> Thankfully I have fanfiction and can write and read good mom Talia to my heart’s


	10. Chapter 10

Tim looked blankly at the screen.

Gone, their last hope was gone.

Bruce, his father was gone.

Tim felt a sob crawl up his throat.

It choked him as he tried to swallow it down, to continue on as though his father hadn't just died.

His eyes blurred and his nails dug into the palms of his hands.

The tips of his fingers turned white as he tightly held onto himself.

He shoved himself away from the monitor before he did something that he would regret.

He- he needed to get himself under control. He needed to start planning for how he was going to continue on with whatever solution Bruce had come up with before he died.

He needed to whip away his tears and start doing his jobs.

He needed

He needed

He needed

He needed

He needed

He needed

He needed

He needed

He couldn't stop crying.

Everything was too loud.

Too big

Too much

“Timothy?” a voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Timothy what’s wrong?” the voice grabbed his hands and painstakingly tried to pry Tim’s fingers away from his palm. 

“Timothy please answer me,” the words were said so sweetly, so gently, so worriedly.

“Plan 3b” Tim rasped, his hands reaching out and clutching at the one person he had left.

He needed to protect Damian.

Tim got up on shaky legs as he tried to get to his lab. He almost fell but Damian was quick to catch him.

Damian picked him up and walked to where Tim directed him.

“I thought this was a last resort,” Damian remarks as he settles Tim down on his chair.

“Bruce is dead,” the words are said bluntly, bludgeoning Damian with the news of his father’s demise.

“I- I see,” Damian struggles to say the words calmly but Tim can't focus on him right now, not when they can fix everything.

(no matter how much Tim’s heart aches at Damian’s sorrow)

He has a world to save.

Richard died first, saving them all in the process. It almost broke Damian seeing his big brother die.

Stephanie died second, she went out in a raging glory, taking down a fourth of the enemy forces with her. Damian wasn't entirely sure that her death didn't break Timothy.

Barabra was next.

Then Jason.

Then Duke.

Till it was only father, Cassandra, Timothy, and himself.

For years Damian had only Timothy and Cassandra by his side in battle.

Father was there at times too, but he had more important matters to tend to.

Then Cassandra died, saving them all just like Richard had done all those years ago.

Sometimes Damian wondered what she thought about in her last moments. If she thought they were worth it.

It was only Timothy and Damian.

Left all alone in a base far too large.

Left all alone with ghosts haunting their every movement.

And now Bruce was dead.

His father was dead.

Batman was dead.

Damian turned away from his last loved one.

While Tim may maintain that Time Travel was the only way, Damian knew that there were other avenues to explore.

Avenues he just had to recheck.

When Richard had first died Damian had been beside himself.

He was desperate for a way to save his brother.

His determination only grew with every sibling that fell.

In the end, was it any wonder that he eventually found his way to the more magical side of the spectrum?

He had already exhausted all that he could with science, so wasn't it more logical that he finally dips his toe into the occult?

Only the insane repeated the same action over and over again expecting a different result.

And while Damian was many things, insane was not one of them.

He ended up becoming a collector of knowledge.

Books of all kinds of magic eventually made their way into his library.

Divination, Curses, Enchantments. All and more had made their home inside his walls.

And most importantly, necromancy.

His father had made Damian promise to never try any of the spells or rituals when he had first seen a book about it in Damian’s hands.

Damian wondered if his father knew how much he was stunting him by making him swear such a thing.

Damian was an al Ghul, if there was one type of magic that he would be able to naturally excel at it would be necromancy.

Every other type of magic was too difficult to grasp. If he followed his father’s will he would be nothing but a second-rate magician.

And maybe it was an unnatural type of magic, but Damian was already destined for hell, what did it matter when already nothing could change the outcome of his final resting place.

Tim looked up, everything was in order.

He knew it would be, but it was always better to make sure.

“Damian! It’s finished!” Tim called out, his heart beating wildly as for the first time hope blossomed.

Damian appeared a few minutes later, a book in his hands.

Tim watched with exasperation as Damian mournfully placed the book down.

“Can we take my books with us?” Damian asked hopefully.

“It’ll only be 12 hours at most, don't get your panties in a twist your books will be waiting when you get back,” Tim rolled his eyes and Damian frowned at him.

“12 hours?” Damian asked, already wondering if they could go back to the beginning, before all of this had even started.

“Bruce made me promise that it wouldn't be any more than that when he found out about me building this,” Tim shrugged self-consciously, a nervous smile blooming on his lips.

“But it could go back farther?” Damian was insistent.

“Well, no. Bruce made sure that it can't go back for more than the promised time,” Damian scowled and Tim honestly agreed but Bruce was right about it being too dangerous to go back any further.

They didn't know the full consequences such an action could cause.

The flashes didn't count; they were a breed of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so sorry for not updating for a while and then updating with a flashback instead of an actual chapter.
> 
> but I knew that I needed to do a flashback to straighten some things out.
> 
> and also midterms.
> 
> hopefully after tomorrow I will be able to update more frequently.


	11. Chapter 11

The room was almost finished, just one more month, one more month till the Barabra and Jason could be saved.

Tim took a deep breath and wondered what it would be like to live with Lex Luthor, Superman’s greatest foe, and Kon’s creator.

All he needed to do was decide how to make sure that the clone he got was the Kon he would end up knowing.

Maybe it was cruel of Tim not to put a stop to the experiments or to not care about all the former experiments' pain. Maybe it was selfish to only want to save his own people. Maybe it was evil to stand by and do nothing.

But all those years alone, all those years with so few people left to care about made his perspective on things a little skewed.

He’d die for his family.

(he’d kill for his family)

Two months in the past and everything was going by so slowly.

It was like he was frozen, unable to do all the things he really wanted to do.

He wanted to hurry up his plans with the Joker.

He wanted to rush over to Bruce and hug the man.

He wanted to find Dick and wrap him in bubble wrap.

He wanted to see Cass’s excited grin again.

He wanted to kiss Steph one last time.

He wanted to just be in Damian’s presence again.

After all those years where they were only a few rooms away from each other at most, it seemed wrong to not have the other boy there with a snarky quip on his tongue and a look of derision on his handsome features.

His heart ached with need as he wished desperately for Damian to be there and support his prone form as Tim leaned against him.

For his hand to grip firmly at Tim’s forearm in some sort of promise.

Sometimes Tim would say or do something particularly stupid and wait for Damian to start laughing at him.

At times Tim would wake up in a cold sweat, thinking that Damian hadn’t come back with him.

The only thing that could calm him down was watching recordings of Damian.

It made him feel like the creep everyone had teasingly called him.

But he couldn't stop, not when everything in him screamed that if he looked away his last bit of family would disappear like everyone else had.

So he sat stiffly in his chair, watching in time footage of Damian sleep, slowly relaxing with every visible exhale that Damian would make.

Then when he felt like everything was at least slightly okay, he’d get out of the camera and instead try to hack into Lexcorp.

At this point, it seemed more like a game he and Luthor were playing rather than an actual attempt to get in.

It kept his mind busy and made Lex mildly annoyed so Tim was all for it.

Tim was disturbed from his musing when a call rang.

Tim answered the phone without looking away.

“Hello?” Tim asked. His breath caught when a familiar yet so foreignly young answered.

“Drake, I need to inform you of some changes,” Damian said sternly.

“What did you do now?” Tim groaned.

“Mother has had the bright idea to invite Cassandra into my task force. I accepted this. I know it isn't the smart thing to do, but if there is a way we can get her away  
from David Cain a few years earlier then I must do it. I owe my sister that much,” Damian said nervously into the phone.

Tim- Tim didn't have much to say about that, because Tim full-heartedly agreed. 

“You know I’m not about to stop you, not about this,” Tim told him.

“No, but I thought it prudent to let you know of this change in the timeline,” Damian sniffed and Tim laughed the weight on his chest suspiciously absent.

“Thank you, Damian,” Tim said softly, leaning back against his chair.

“Of course Timothy,” Damian said back just as softly.

The moment seemed almost delicate, like one wrong move would break them out of this atmosphere that they had built around themselves.

Tim was damn near holding his breath to preserve the moment and by the sound of it, he wasn't alone.

Tim smiled at the thought that Damian was just as invested in this as he was.

A few minutes go by were both just bask in the other’s presence (not enough, never enough)

Before Tim finally says something. (he can't keep them here, no matter how much he wishes that he could stay with Damian forever)

“I need to go,” Tim whispers, it felt disrespectful to do anything else. 

“I see,” Damian’s reply was damn near mournful.

“Goodbye,” Tim says, hanging up before he can hear the hesitant goodbye on the other end.

Tim brings a hand to his face and pushes away the tears that stream down his face.

His fingers were too small.

Too small to completely catch all his tears.

Damian looked down at the phone with a wistful expression.

He put the phone away and walked back towards his companions, his steps heavy and weighed down.

“What’s wrong brat?” Rose asks in concern. 

Jade sits on the ground, a pinched look on her face.

“Nothing,” Damian says as he goes to sit across from Jade.

“What’s wrong with Cheshire?” Damian asks as Jade doesn't even look at him, too busy glaring with glassy eyes at the ceiling.

“The B number 2 is being an asshole,” Rose says with a shrug.

B 2, stands for Brat 2 Rose had once explained cheerfully, completely uncaring of the glares that had set upon her.

Damian looks at Jade with sympathy.

The poor woman was 6 months along and just now starting to really show.

He opens his mouth to say something nice and horribly unnecessary when Jade lurches forward.

Rose gets up with a jump and Damian leans back but the damage is done.

Jade threw up on Damian’s shoes.

Rose looks at the disgusted look on Damian’s face and the pained one on Jade’s and busts a gut laughing.

She folds herself in half and Damian grabs a hold of her clothes, pulling her forward.

She lands face first in Jade’s vomit.

Damian, Rose, and Jade say nothing.

Damian because he’s not suicidal.

Rose because she’s in shock.

And Jade because she’s in far too much pain to really give a shit about what’s going on around her.

“You little shit!” Rose shouts, reaching her hands out to grab at Damian as Damian smartly scurries away.

“Is that any way to talk to your young and innocent boss?” Damian asks, trying to appeal to her good nature.

Rose is having absolutely none of it.

“It is when that “young and innocent boss” gets me covered in vomit!”

“You have the ability to see the future! You could have definitely stopped me!” Damian says as he dodges her attempt to swipe at him.

“That’s not how that works and you know it!” Rose grabs him by his collar and shoves his face into Rose’s shoulder so that he too, could be covered in vomit.

Damian gags and tries to push himself away but Rose is unrelenting and merciless.

“You bitch!” Damian shouts.

“Fuck yeah I am!” Rose shouts back.

Then Rose falls forward with a yelp, dropping Damian in the process.

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Jade hisses from behind them, her hand still raised in a fist from where she struck Rose.

Rose and Damian whine pathetically.

But Jade does not give a shit.

Before she can blow up at them however a clearing of a throat dumps them right back into reality.

All three stand to attention and are faced with an amused looking Talia, an angry faced David Cain, and a blank-faced Cassandra Cain.

“You can't be serious!” David blows up at Talia.

Talia’s amusement is instantly replaced with distaste, like she saw an ugly looking bug on the bottom of her shoe.

“That is my son Damian, the heir of the Demon’s Head. Take heed on how you decide to proceed, for I will not allow any disrespect to be shown towards our future leader,” Talia’s words slither into their ears and hiss threateningly. But Cain does not seem to care.

“Oh please, we both know that the title of heir is an empty one, why would an immortal need an heir?” David snarls.

“Why would an immortal need a bodyguard?” Talia mocks. David goes red with anger as he grits his teeth.

“Is there anything else?” Damian interrupts before the two can really get into it. As much as he would enjoy watching his mother completely obliterate David Cain, he refuses to allow the man’s presence to be near his dear sister.

“No,” David spits out as he walks away with stilted steps.

Cassandra looks at his retreating back and Damian wants nothing more than to hug her.

“Ugh, I will rejoice the day that man finally dies,” Talia says with a sneer on her beautiful face. She too, turns around and leaves.

“Do take a shower, my love, I would rather you not be known in all the league as the heir that refuses to wash,” Talia says amusedly.

This of course brings in the fact that now Cassandra’s first meeting with Damian is of Damian being covered in vomit.

Fucking lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for not updating in a while, turns out I'm a gremlin that will simply decide to stay in bed when not given a reason to get up.
> 
> So like, I started this winter break with plans to update four times or something, and then just didn't. 
> 
> But anyway he's an update, yay!
> 
> again, sorry for the delay and I hope y'all are having a good whatever you do during this time of the year.


	12. Chapter 12

Shiva was bored.

She exists by floating from one path onto the other, only moving forward when things stopped being interesting.

What will give her the next thrill? What will make her blood rush this time?

Hero or Villain, what does it matter to someone such as her, who can't be bothered to care?

“Join me for a cup of tea?” a voice asks from behind her.

Shiva is not surprised.

“Of course,” Shiva stands up and joins Talia al Ghul where she sits with a knowing grin.

Talia always thought she knew everything, that would be her downfall.

Shiva sits gracefully, her eyes instantly drawn to the beautiful assassin sitting beside her.

Talia pours Shiva a cup and sets it before her. She then carefully gives Shiva a plate full of fruit and Arabian sweets.

Shiva takes a sip and wrinkled her nose at the taste.

It was middle eastern in origin, not the tea she herself drank for pleasure, but still better than the liquid Eurapians liked to call tea.

Talia saw her expression and laughed. Shiva narrowed her eyes at her but Talia only laughed more. Eventually, Shiva couldn't help but smile slightly herself.

The sound was pleasant, it made Shiva want to hear more.

“I apologize, Lady Shiva, I meant no disrespect. I simply find it amusing how even though our cultures both value tea immensely, such a small difference in taste and texture can make even the most avid tea drinker balk. I assure you that you are not alone in this. In fact, in the reverse of this situation I have made a vow to myself to never try your particular brand of tea ever again,” Talia said as the last of her giggles tapered off. A seductive smile tugged teasingly on her lips and Shiva couldn't help but notice how her lips seemed especially red today.

“You seemed to enjoy it the first time we drank it,” Shiva reminded her, her eyes lifting from Talia’s lips up to her eyes slowly. A smirk grew upon Shiva’s lips and she knew without a shadow of a doubt what game Talia was playing. 

The question was whether she wanted to play as well.

“I’m simply a much better actress,” Talia said in amusement.

The reminder of her track record as a liar did nothing to the warm feeling that Talia was slowly cultivating within Shiva, in fact, it only made it grow.

A thrill at the idea of tempting this particular snake into her bed made Shiva’s blood rush.

After all, hadn't this been what she’d been waiting for? Something to grab her attention and save her from her boredom?

And what was less boring than playing with the fire that was the demon’s daughter?

“You might be the better actress but I assure you that I am far better in… other fields,” Shiva flirted, enjoying the brief look of shock that stole over Talia’s face.

Then Talia grinned back and Shiva knew that this would be fun.

Blaze was tried.

She was tried and oh so alone.

She was so close to dying, so close to just disappearing into the void.

The only thing that kept her going was the promise of revenge, the promise of everything that had once been her’s returning back to her.

For all that the brat had tricked her, he had made it impossible for himself to skip out of his part of the deal.

All she had to do was wait.

All she had to do was be patient.

Rage battered at her.

It shook her to her very core and demanded to be heard.

It begged for action.

But Blaze had not gotten to where she was now by listening to every little voice in her head.

The game was set, she just needed to stay alive to see the end result.

(it had been years since she had felt this alone)

(it had been years since she killed her brother)

Barabra was retired.

She was retired even when every part of her wanted to be out there to feel the wind in her hair and the bones beneath her fists.

She was in perfect shape, it's not like anyone could come up with a reason to stop her.

But, she wanted to try to be a civilian, to let someone else save the masses of Gotham.

She started out too young.

She started out too young and now she was older and didn't even know if the reason she wanted to save people was because of her moral code, or because all those years in her developmental years made her think she wanted to.

She couldn't get out of retirement until she sorted herself out.

She couldn't get out of retirement until she saved people because that was what she wanted to do, and not what she had been taught to think she wanted.

She liked to think she was a good person.

But her father was a good person and he didn't go out and illegally fight crime in a bat costume.

What did it mean to be a good person?

What did it mean to be Batgirl?

What did it mean to be Barabra Gordon?

Lex was fascinated.

The boy was utterly fascinating.

He knew as soon as he met him that his choice of heir was a good one.

Mercy agreed once she saw how intelligent and ruthless he was.

Lex was already planning for a wonderful gift to give his new son once the boy was officially him

He had already shown his lack of resistance to the idea of Lex’s experiments, so how would the boy like his own personal Kryptonian?

Lex rather thought that Timothy would enjoy such a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright first things first, 
> 
> 1) Talia/Shiva is a go! bet none of y'all expected that
> 
> 2) No I haven't forgotten about Blaze, I've just sort of sidelined her for a little bit until I could get everything together.
> 
> 3) I don't remember the reason for Barabra quitting Batgirl before she had her accident but I remember that it happened in the time line. Like, she was Batgirl, then she retired, then she got shot but the Joker, and then she became Oracle. But anyway since I don't remember and I don't feel like checking I've made my own reason.
> 
> 4) And finally, yes! Tim is about to get Kon as a bodyguard!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this and have a nice day!


	13. Chapter 13

It was almost finished.

The construction worker informed him that it would be done by next week.

It was the best news Tim had heard all month.

All those days waiting by the edge of his seat would finally pay off as he captured the Joker and stuffed him in the secret dungeon in his home.

As Tim was doing a silent little jig in the privacy of his own home a knock disturbed him.

He hesitantly walked towards the door and opened it.

There, standing on his doorstep, was one Dick Grayson.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

Tim put on a polite smile on his face and tried to ignore how every part of him wanted to curl into a ball on his brother’s chest.

He looked so alive.

So young.

So- so- so-

“Hi! You must be Tim,” Dick stretched out a hand and Tim looked at the appendage in horror.

Touch his brother?

It had been hard to see Bruce and Jason.

But this was Dick, the first to die.

It had been so fucking long.

Dick’s smile got strained the longer Tim just looked at his hand without saying anything.

Dick slowly drew his hand back and watched as Tim was hypnotized by his hand.

Dick was concerned.

“Uh, you there kid?” Dick didn't wave his hand in front of Tim’s face.

He was still kinda freaked out by the kid’s fascination with his poor, innocent limb.

Normally when someone was struck speechless by him they were looking at his face or ass, not at his very normal looking hand.

Was this a kink?

No, wait the kid was way too young for that.

Maybe it was a new thing for children?

Huh, Jason was right.

Tim Drake was indeed slightly strange.

Dick took a step back, then another, then another.

He kept moving backward until he was at the edge of the property and then he booked it.

Tim meanwhile had stopped being hypnotized by Dick’s hand almost five minutes ago but pretended otherwise to scare off Dick.

And somehow it had worked.

Huh

Okay then

Tim robotically walked back into his house.

He marched to his kitchen and opened the fridge.

He poured himself orange juice and sat himself down on a stool.

He looked at the glass and felt something hot slide down his cheek.

He brought up a hand and blinked when he felt something wet.

Oh.

He was crying.

By the time Damian, Rose, and Jade had all been cleaned up and ready to meet their new teammate an hour had passed.

The three walked to the training room and were greeted by the sight of their fourth teammate already there.

Jade took the initiative and walked up to Cassandra.

“Hello, my name is Jade, I apologize for the state that we were all in at the time of our meeting. I assure you that we are not normally so uncivilized,” Jade tried to say, a welcoming smile on her face that soon fell when Cassandra said nothing in response.

A few seconds went by where nothing was said.

The mood soon became sour and Damian knew he had to say something before they started fighting, but he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth.

Rose took a step forward.

“Hey asshole, stop being such a snob, we’re trying to be nice!” Rose marched over to Cassandra and leaned over her threateningly. 

As soon as Rose was in reach Cassandra punched her in the stomach.

Rose dodged and the two began to fight.

One always predicting the other’s moves right before they were made.

Damian finally got out of his own head and walked confidently towards the two combatants.

“Enough!” Damian yelled just as he got in between two incoming attacks.

Rose and Cassandra stopped just short of hitting him.

Damian shifted his body towards Cassandra and made sure that his body conveyed that he wasn't a threat.

Cassandra relaxed.

“She doesn't know how to speak English,” Damian told Jade and Rose, taking a step towards the now calm girl.

She was so young. Her face was unblemished and her eyes so soulful.

He couldn't understand how someone might ever think her incapable of speech when her eyes told tales that English could never convey.

Cassandra leaned over to him and both Jade and Rose tensed up but Damian relaxed further at her proximity.

She slowly reached out a hand and brought it to his head. The had was feather-light, as though she was ready to take it off his head at a moment's notice.

Damian looked into his sister’s eyes, felt her hand on his head, and burst into tears.

He threw himself at her and hugged her tightly as he cried his heart out in her arms.

She held him, the steady presence she had always been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY END OF 2020
> 
> hope your all doing well and are safe.


	14. Chapter 14

Tim was having a bit of an out of body experience. He put one foot in front of the other and didn’t focus on much more than that.

The tip-tap of his footsteps was a calming rhythm that Tim knew he could lose himself to. 

He could walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk, and walk.

He could move until his body collapsed.

“You seem sad,” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

A familiar, young, wrong voice.

Tim turned around and was met face first with blond hair.

Tim blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

He took a step back before his brain finally computed what was right in front of him.

Steph

Steph

Steph

Steph

Each of his thoughts circled around back to the fact that this was Steph.

His Steph.

Fuck, was it fuck with Tim Drake day?

“Yo kid, do I got something on my face?” Steph asked in annoyance, her concern shining through despite her raised eyebrows and frowning lips.

“A bruise” Tim gasped out, his breath coming in short as he tried to suck in air only to choke on it.

Her hair was dirty and her clothes were cheap and her face was bruised.

She looked almost nothing like the Steph he knew before.

But it would be a cold day in hell before Tim would be unable to recognize her.

“What’s your name kid?” Steph asks, grabbing Tim by his jacket and dragging them both to the ground to sit on.

“Tim”

“Well I’m Stephanie but you can call me Steph,” she grinned at him and Tim was helpless to do anything other than smile back.

“So, what’s a rich kid like you doing on this side of town without your bodyguards?”

“I don't have bodyguards” Tim blinked, feeling rather like he was being hit by a hurricane.

“That’s a real shame, Timmy, God knows you need some if you're stupid enough to walk in here with those nice shoes” Steph pointed down at his feet and Tim couldn't help the way his eyes followed after.

“My shoes?” Tim repeated distantly, vaguely wondering what the fuck.

“Yeah, folks round here would love to get a hand on your entire person if they could but they’d settle for your shoes,” Steph’s smirk was bloodthirsty but Tim couldn't help but be struck by the sight.

“Oh”

“Yeah oh, fuckin’ dumbass” Steph rolled her eyes and Tim was struck once more with double vision on who she was now and who she’d soon be.

“Where’d you get your bruise?” Tim couldn't help but ask, already knowing the answer but praying for it to be wrong.

“Oh, this? It was down by the river see, me against ten adults. They were angry that I was talking smack so they-” Tim felt a genuine smile grow on his lips the more he listened to Steph talk. Her hand motions unrestrained as she tried to paint him a picture that he would have had no problem believing if she was just a little older.

She mimed punching a man and Tim couldn't help but laugh.

Steph stopped her story to grin up at him before going back to her story with even more ridiculous exaggeration.

By the time Steph was done Tim’s throat hurt from laughing and Steph’s beaming smile was no doubt hurting her lips.

The moment came to a close far too quickly when they heard yelling from the apartment behind them.

Someone screamed and something crashed.

Tim blinked while Steph’s smile disappeared, leaving behind a bruised child too small for her purple sweater.

“Well kid, it’s been nice but I gotta go,” Steph’s voice was quiet and Tim felt the need to hug her.

Well, fuck it.

Tim took a step forward and wrapped her arms around her.

She went stiff for a second before hesitantly bringing her hands to his back. She hooked her chin on his shoulder and Tim tightened his hold for a second before relaxing them again.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered to her.

“Anytime rich kid” she whispered back.

She then took a step back and discreetly wiped her eyes before squaring her shoulders and entering the apartment where the shouting was coming from.

Tim watched her go, already knowing that he wasn't letting her ever be hurt like she was again.

Damian slowly released Cassandra from his death grip, wiping his tears on the back of his hand.

“Sorry,” he told her sincerely.

God she definitely did not deserve to deal with his bullshit.

Cassandra smiled at him and Damian felt his breath leave his lungs at the sight of it.

“Can we get an explanation?” Jade asked, her face blank but her voice conveying her worry.

“I know her from when I was younger. She is my sister,” Damian told them bluntly. Perhaps it was wrong of him to make up this cover story without consulting Cassandra, especially since she couldn't say anything against it, but Damian knew him bursting into tears was far too suspicious to not explain away.

Perhaps- perhaps Tim would even allow him to let her in on the secret?

Cassandra was just as important to Tim as she was to Damian so he severely doubted he’d deny his request.

“Are you telling me your father is David Cain?” Rose asked incredulously.

“What? God no,” Damian felt his face scrunch up in disgust at even the thought.

“Then how?” Rose demanded.

Damian gave her an unimpressed look.

“She’s not my blood sister, I’ve adopted her, like I’ve adopted you two,” Damian shook his head at the stupidity.

“You- you think of as your sisters?” Jade asked, blinking rapidly.

“I will not repeat myself for your egos” Damian sniffed.

Jade burst into tears.

Everyone immediately panicked.

Rose waved her hands around wildly as she tried to calm Jade down.

Damian ran to grab a tissue.

And Cassandra calmly set a curtain to flame.

No one noticed as they were too busy trying to calm Jade down.

“Oh my god, it's nothing! I’m just hormonal leave me the fuck alone!” both Rose and Damian settled down at the words before noticing something that was quickly growing.

“Why did she set the drapes on fire!” Jade yelled.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Damian repeated as he ran to get a bucket of water.

Cassandra stood proudly before her handy work like it was a piece of art instead of an actual fire.

Rose meanwhile admired the view.

“You know what,” Rose started to say when everything had calmed back down, “I think me and the new girl are gonna get along great,” Rose grinned at them and Jade and Damian were hit with a strong sense of foreboding.

“I refuse to allow there to be two of them,” Jade whispered, horrified.

“This will be your room” Damian informed Cassandra, pointing at the room just beside his own quarters.

Rose and Jade were also located on this side of the wing.

Originally this wing belonged solely to Damian, but after he started collecting teammates his grandfather attempted to punish him by putting them in his space.

Jokes on him though because Damian liked having people he trusted nearby in case of an emergency.

“I will be teaching you sign language once you settle in if that’s okay with you,” Damian said bashfully.

He remembered once in the future-that-could-be that his sister had commented that she always felt more comfortable with sign language than actual spoken language.

Cassandra nodded at him and Damian waved her goodnight, already knowing that tomorrow would be great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for not updating for a while.
> 
> Hope you're all well and healthy.


	15. Chapter 15

Talia al Ghul was not a kind woman. She was not a gentle flower nor a naive little girl. She was an assassin born of blood and death. She was raised to be sharpened steel and hardened iron. She had been raised in a world that would rather spit on her than ever see her succeed, and she had flourished. 

Talia al Ghul did not have soft hands, she broke more than she held and she was brutal, cruel, vicious, and sadistic. She was a snake among the grass that bit unsuspecting children playing in the fields.

Her smile was a warning and her voice a tempting song. She was a siren that called poor sailors to their doom and fed upon their flesh.

She was a monster, a demon, a succubus. She was all that and more awful and wretched things.

But most importantly, before all that, she was a mother.

Talia al Ghul did not know how to love, but staring at the small baby that fit so perfectly in her arms she couldn't help but wonder if perhaps she was wrong.

Her father was not a kind man, but he had raised her, he had taught her, and he had trained her. But he hasn't loved her.

No, Talia had never learned love from her father. She had thought that she had learned that particular lesson when she had met her beloved detective, but she knew now that she had not learned love from him either. No, she learned love from her son, her pure son. How had she ever made something so pure?

Because at the end of all her circling thoughts, she knew down to the very depths of her bones that there was very little she wouldn't do for the baby nestled against her.

She had made this. She had made this perfect little being.

Ever cry and whine and coo made Talia want to murder, sing, love, and torture.

She almost wished that she could absorb him back into her body so that he would never be far from her.

But she knew if she did that then she’d never have the pleasure of holding him.

“Damian,” Talia had whispered reverently. She had stroked his little cheek and felt delighted when he leaned into the touch.

Talia al Ghul was not a kind or gentle or loving woman, but holding her son made her wish that she was.

Watching her baby grow was heartbreaking and wonderful at the same time.

She constantly had to sand down her edges and watch helplessly as he still cut himself upon her broken form.

Why couldn't she be a good mother?

What was she doing wrong?

She had to watch as his little hands held on desperately to the shards of her heart, trying to piece them back together with sheer love alone.

It hurt her to watch him bleed over her.

But his innocent, pure-hearted self did it anyway.

She didn't like the guilt.

She didn't like the hurt.

She didn't like that even after everything she did she still failed.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

She hated him.

But despite it, despite her hate, she loved him.

She loved him.

She loved the little boy that held on so tightly to her hand, to her bloodied hand.

She couldn’t breathe fully until she knew he was safe.

She couldn't relax until he was in her arms.

She couldn't sleep until he said goodnight.

It was as though her entire life boiled down to one thing and it was all she could do to keep going.

Now, watching her beautiful baby boy walk among killers and lead them like a seasoned assassin, she knew.

Her baby was still there, of course, he was, but he was more now.

Something had happened, something had hurt her baby and she didn't know what.

She didn't know.

The only thing that stopped her from demanding him to tell her everything was the way he flinched at her very touch.

Her baby had never done that before, he had never feared her, never avoided her.

But now, it seemed that it was all he did.

She wanted to shake him by the shoulders, to make him understand that she would never hurt him, that whatever had happened did not change her love for him, that nothing could ever change her love for him.

But as she looked upon her baby, upon her Alexander, she couldn't help but notice how much happier he seemed without her.

How much freer he seemed when she wasn't there.

It hurt her, It pained her very soul, but she kept away. She kept away and watched from afar.

She watched him talk to Lex’s new protege and future son (Lex wouldn't shut up about the boy).

She watched as he spilled all his secrets without ever knowing she was there.

As soon as she pieced together what was going on she killed all the guards with her and vowed to make sure that he got all the help he needed.

She pacified her father’s rage.

She distracted Slade from trying to follow after and kill her son.

She seduced Lady Shiva so that she could have a reason to send Cassandra Cain (powerful and useful) to her son. (If Shiva happened to make her blood rush in excitement, well that was no one's business but her own)

She did everything in her power to help him, to protect him.

She would always do everything in her power to help and protect him.

(she didn't know what she had done in her future, but she would rather die than repeat it) 

(she would rather die than have her son look at her like she was a monster to be feared)

(Not to her son, never to her son )

Janet Drake wasn’t a particularly caring mother.

She knew this to the very marrows of her bones.

She had tried when she was younger and had always managed to fall short.

Don't get her wrong, she loved her son, but that doesn't mean she was always there for him.

Her passion would always be in her job, being a mother just never gave her the same rush.

She knew that she shouldn't have had a child if she couldn't care for them, but in a brief moment of weakness, she had dreamed.

She had dreamed of caring for a child, of teaching them all her secrets.

It was just unfortunate that that dream didn't last when Tim had been born.

She had tried to be a good mother, she had tried to be gentle and kind and loving.

But she was always too hard on him. 

Too harsh. 

Too mean.

Too cruel.

What good was being a mother if all she did was hurt her child?

It had just become easier to keep her distance.

No chance of hurting Tim if she wasn't there to hurt him.

Jack took his cues from her and followed like the loyal husband he was.

But soon, even staying in the same home was wrong.

She berated him for being too loud, for being too quiet, for being too kind, for not being kind enough, she reprimanded him for everything under the sun.

It was like everything he did irritate her and she couldn't figure out why.

She loved him, she knew she loved him, but why was it that all she could do was point out everything he was doing wrong.

Every time she opened her mouth to compliment him it felt like her lips were glued together.

Where once Drake manor was filled with love and passion, now it was a shadow of its former self.

In the end, it hadn’t taken very long for her to decide to start traveling.

Anything to keep her away from Tim.

(anything to keep her away from her failures)

And, because of it, it had become easier to breathe.

She could suddenly laugh again, could suddenly love again.

She could complement Tim on his accomplishments over the phone and not feel like it was being dragged out of her by a hook.

She could talk to him and not feel the irritation that had settled permanently under her skin when she had been back in Gotham.

She loved Tim, she did, but she loved him better at a distance.

Jack joined her in her travels, always so understanding and kind to her despite her many flaws.

But she was trying, god was she trying.

She was trying to be a good mother, to be a good wife, to be a good person.

She was trying for Tim, she just needed to figure herself out first.

She had been planning on trying out her new success as a mother when she had been called away.

She wouldn't know it till later, but by putting her work above her son once more, by being afraid of failure, she would lose her son forever.

She loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son, she loved her son

But-

But- 

But- 

But- 

But-

Wasn't it right to let her son go?

Wasn't it right to give her son to someone that could better care for him?

She loved Tim, but she wasn't a good mother.

She wasn't a good mother, but she’d be damned if she didn't do this one thing for her son.

She and Lex drew up papers and debated for hours over every little detail.

She made him put down a clause that gave her the right to take back her son if she deemed his care to be unfit. 

The man had thrown a hissy fit about it but Janet had held firm.

She loved her son, she would not put him in a dangerous situation without a way out, she wasn’t stupid.

Over time she grew to care for Lex. He wasn't a good man by any means, but Janet wasn't a good woman by any means so she really didn't have any room to judge.

Jack wasn't exactly sold on the whole thing, but, like always, he followed Janet’s decision.

She tried to call Tim more frequently, tried to let him know that she loved him. But the words were harder to say than ever and she was transported back to when he was just a small child, just an irritation.

It was like no matter how much she grew, she always reverted.

But Janet Drake wasn't a quitter.

Janet knew she’d spend all her life getting over her own shortcomings and trying to be a good mother to Tim.

Because despite everything, she loved her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Talia knows and has known for a while.
> 
> Also when Talia calls Damian Alexander it's because sometimes in the comics she'll just call Damian her Alexander (for Alexander the great) because she wants him to be as great if not better then him.
> 
> Sorry for the late update and I hope everyone's well!
> 
> Next chap we go back to Damian and Tim


	16. Chapter 16

Tim walks the grimy streets of downtown Gotham, glad for the (semi) fresh air after spending several hours in front of a computer. He carries a large lunch box brimming with snacks, and moves with a confidence coming from the utter certainty he could take any threats that may pop out of the woodworks. Stuck as a twelve-year-old he may be, but that didn’t remove the skills drilled into his brain from years as a hero. Along with his schemes and planning, he returned to daily practice; stretching his muscles, running, and drilling with a bo staff. It would be a while before his body could do what his mind _knows_ he’s capable of, but Tim was patient. He had time.

His steps falter when he catches a familiar glimpse of blond hair. On a rickety fire escape, clad in a purple wrinkled threadbare sweater, is the younger version of his ex-girlfriend. Her face is still smudged with dirt, but the bruises are a shade lighter than earlier in the week when he met her for the first time, again. Her face lights up at the sight of him, her split lip stretching uncomfortably as she grins.

Tim’s face mirrors hers. His chest lightens at the sight of her happiness.

“Heya Timbo! Thought you weren't gonna come today, seeing as you came yesterday, but it’s not like that's ever stopped you before. You’ve sure been determined to feed me lately. Speaking of food whatcha got in your lunchbox today? It better not be what you bought yesterday. I’ll disown you and won't look twice if you bring that demon food back into my good god lovin’ home,” Steph babbles, her words spilling out of her as Tim blinks, trying to catch everything she says.

He chuckles, she always was such a chatterbox. “Steph,” he says, raising his hands hoping to slow her words to a more reasonable level.

No such luck.

She bounces on the thin rail, and Tim winces at the creaking groans. “You’ll never believe what I’ve heard! Apparently, my old man decided to go villain or some shit and his name is so fuckin’ stupid. Dear god, it’s the worst. He’s a Riddler knock off and I’m livin’ for it,”Steph rushes to exclaim, cackling all the while. She waves her hands around excitedly, and Tim can’t help but laugh with her.

“You know, most people aren’t happy when their family members commit crimes,” he says smirking.

Steph laughs. “Are you kiddin’? I can't wait for that bastard to get caught and thrown into Arkham, couldn't happen to a nicer man if ya ask me. ” Her tone is happy, and her words are callous, but even from the ground the haunted shadows dancing in her eyes are visible. She didn’t deserve the shit her father put her through. Even worse, Steph’s dad won’t get caught until she becomes a vigilante a few years from now. By then, her bright smile would have plenty of reasons to never show.

Tim’s happiness fades, but he doesn’t let Steph see. He didn’t need to spoil her good mood. 

Steph slides off the railing, her battered trainers hitting the ground. Bouncing up to him she grabs his arm and drags him through the alley to another side street. 

“Come on rich boy. Let’s go find a place to eat whatever’s in the pack of yours you got,” she shouts, and Tim finds himself powerless to say no. They race through the streets like so long ago once clad in capes and masks searching to pick a fight. They were older then, more beaten down. Well, Tim was still older and far more broken now than ever, but for today he could pretend. 

He could pretend he was a normal boy, with a normal friend, in a normal city. Normal, instead of a poisonous spider sitting in his web, casting his net and pulling the strings of everyone around him. 

He could pretend the world didn’t rest on his shoulders.

Just for today. 

* * *

  
  


Hours later, after an enjoyable afternoon hanging with Steph, Tim made his way back home in the chill of the late October evening. The Drake mansion stood empty and the yard devoid of construction equipment. The company finished the last of their work the day before. It rested on him to put in place his plans before leaving for Metropolis. 

Once, when he was actually twelve, Tim couldn’t wait to leave this cold empty house for good. Now, with his move looming in the near future, Tim’s chest ached with nostalgia and uncertainty. The past few months of unhindered freedom were bliss, he had reconnected with Stephanie, and the glimpses of the Waynes - no matter how nerve wrecking - kept him sane. How would he deal living all alone in Metropolis, under Lex Luthor’s sharp gaze? 

Tim flops on his bed, clad in fresh pajamas, his hair still wet from the shower he took to get the grime of the city streets off him. He leans back against the soft pillows, and rests his eyes letting his limbs relax from the stress of following Steph around all day. 

His phone rings, and Tim grabs it off his bedside table, placing it to his ear. “Hey Damian,” Tim greets. Damian clicks his teeth, and Tim smiles, relaxing at the sound of the other’s breathing.

_“Cass has settled in well,_ ,” Damian remarks after a few seconds of silence.

“You mean in your group of super badass assassin ladies?” Tim asks dryly. “I’m not surprised she fits in; she is a badass assassin lady.” Damian snorts at his comment and Tim’s lip quirks at the sound.

_“Yes, Timothy, I believe that was the general idea,_ ” Damian's amusement is palpable.

“That’s good. She’s better with you than David Cain,” Tim spits out the name like it’s venom and Damian makes a sound of agreement.

_“I plan to tell her of the future,”_ Damian tells him, and Tim’s heart drops into his stomach, erasing the relaxed mood he was in.

“Oh?” Tim asks tightly. Damian doesn't notice.

_“Yes, her help would be invaluable and I believe we could both benefit from another person knowing of our position,”_ Tim barely hears the words as the blood rushes in his ears.

No, no this was- this was about _them._ Damian was his- his- his… person. Damian was _his_ and the idea of someone else knowing, of someone else being that close to Damian (even Cass) made Tim shake with anger. This was their burden to share, _together._

It had been only Tim and Damian for years.

Tim and Damian. Damian and Tim.. Tim-and-Damian. Damian-and-TimTimandDamian. DamianandTim. 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Tim’s own voice sounds distorted to his ears.

There is a pause on the other side of the phone. _“Timothy, you may say no. If you disagree I’d be saddened but understand. You rarely do anything without a plan and I have full faith you’d deny my request for a sufficient reason,”_ Damian’s words cause a deep spike of shame to well within Tim, but it wasn't enough to stop the worry-envy-rage. If he allowed this, if Damian let someone else _know_ he would be farther from Tim than ever before.

Wasn't it bad enough Tim couldn't feel his presence? Did he have to deal with someone taking his spot as the most trusted confidant too?

Because in a competition he would never win.

How could he? How could he ever win when Cass was who he competed against? He’d pick Cass too if he was Damian.

Tim was never the first choice, not as Robin, not as a son, not as a brother. 

But he’d be _damned_ if he didn't keep this.

Damian was his and he’d rather lose the world all over again than have to go through the pain of him slipping through his fingers; out of reach and someone else's. 

“And what if I just don't want her to know?” Tim's heart pounds wildly.

_“Timothy, I don't understand.”_ Damian says, confusion coloring his voice.

“What if I don't want _anyone_ but me and you to know?” Tim clarifies, hoping, hoping, hoping Damian wouldn’t discard him, wouldn't leave him, wouldn't rip into his very being and destroy him.

_“I’d ask you why,”_ Damian finally answers.

“And if I don't have a logical reason?” Tim counters, his pulse beating like a drum in his ears.

A few seconds pass as Damian says nothing, as Damian does nothing.

Then, a sigh.

_“I’d trust you still,”_ Damian says, his voice soft and sincere.

The pressure that built during the conversation, burst. Tears well in Tim’s eyes as his breathing picks up.

Damian picked _him._

Damian _picked_ him.

_Damian_ picked him.

_“Timothy? Timothy? Tim!”_ Damian’s frantic voice breaks him out of his thoughts. Tim realizes he’s audibly crying. 

“I need to go,” Tim rasps out, ashamed at losing his cool, but utterly relieved at the overwhelming knowledge that Damian trusts him, wants _him_.

_“Tim please!”_

“I just need a minute,” Tim promises, before hanging up. The phone drops from his hands, and Tim palms his face, sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

* * *

Damian stares at his phone, concern and worry flooding his chest.

He runs out of his room and over to Jade’s. He knocks rapidly on her door, uncaring of the time of evening, until her tired face pokes out through a small crack.

Damian pushes his way in and Jade groan at his intrusion.

“It’s three in the morning, but _sure_ I’m awake. It’s not like I _need_ enough energy for two or something,” she drawls. 

“We need to go to Gotham,” Damian tells her, determined. Tim had cried, Tim _never_ cried. Not when the world burned, not when Brown blew herself to shreds, not when Grayson died; only the death of father pierced his iron walls, and even then those tears came from shock, nothing near the wretched sobs he made before the call disconnected. Tim was on the other side of the world, all alone, _crying_. Damian feels the deep seated need to destroy whatever or whoever caused such distress so Tim may never need to shed tears again. 

“What?” Jade asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, face scrunching in confusion. 

“My- my-” Damian pauses, attempting to think of a good word to describe Tim, before deciding, fuck it. _“My human_ has shed tears and I must obliterate the being who dared think themselves highly enough to attempt doing so,” Damian spits out, green creeping into the edges of his vision as he struggles to control his breathing. 

“Your _human_?” Jade askes, her eyebrows raised unbelieving.

“Yessss,” he hisses. The thrum in his veins eggs him on. He craves his enemies blood on the blade of his sword, and the presence of his Timothy beside him where nothing and no one could distress him again. 

* * *

Jade is unsure of how she’s even remotely supposed to act in this situation. “I...see,” she finally says, watching her young lord with a cautious eye. 

“No, you do _not._ If you did, you and I would be on our way to Gotham.” His frustration and impatience oozes off of him and Jade knows she has to find a way to deescalate the situation before it spirals out of hand, and he ends up stealing a plane, or any amount of equally bad ideas.

“ _No_ , Damian. You’re not allowed to leave the compound without permission. You're already on thin ice and who knows what your grandfather will do if you aggravate him further.” Like kill her, or Rose, or Cassandra. Jade is well aware that it is only by the presence of this small child all three of them continue to breathe. She rests a hand on her stomach. Well, all _four._

“What does that matter! My Timothy is in pain!” The young child wails, for once seemingly acting his age. It is only by the grace of all her training she does not roll her eyes.

“I understand your concern but you need to act smart here.” She pauses searching for an answer that may satisfy the young child and his need to check on whoever means so much to him. “Allow me to go instead. You’ll have the excuse of my nearing due date and therefore being a hindrance.” At eight months, her stomach protrudes like an overweight balloon. She took, over the past few weeks, to remaining in her rooms unless needed, and only if accompanied by Rose and Damian. She could not wait until this obvious target on her body was gone.

Jade watches the frantic young boy as he paces back and forth, tenser than a tripwire. He stills, screwing his eyes shut, and taking a deep breath. He turns back to her, unnaturally still in his calmness. 

“You will tell no one of what you see, no one of what you hear, and no one of what you learn.” Damian tells her, no, _demands_ of her. “You will go there with no delays. You will treat him as under my protection, and if harm comes to him, there will be no place in this _universe_ you can hide from my wrath.” 

He stands before her, all three feet and five inches of him, his lisp casually twisting his words in his emotional state, and reddened pudgy cheeks. He stands before her, more confident than a grown man ten times his age, body tense in iron fury, his eyes hardened and glowing a viperous green, and ordering her to accomplish as he says or _else_.

And Jade, who considers herself a smart woman, believes him.

She smiles at the image this young child portrays, but knows without a doubt he’s not bluffing. He will find and kill her, pregnant or not, if she ever puts his Timothy in danger.

For a brief moment, she imagines him as the Demon’s Head, a ruler and a king of a new age; fierce and protective of those who need it, and deadly to all who stand in his way. She rather likes the picture.

“Your bidding shall be done little lord.” She bows of her head, her smile sharper than her knives. 

“Good, you shall leave at sunrise. I have the others to brief.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, she imagines a cape fluttering dramatically in his wake. He pauses at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. “And Jade?” 

“Yes, little lord?”

“Do not return until you are of use to me.” The words appear callous, but Jade understands the intended kindness. She will not have to give birth in a compound surrounded by enemies. 

She smiles again, far softer than before. “I understand.” 

He scoffs, leaving the room without another word. Jade’s built up tension recedes, and lets out a long-suffering sigh. How did she get herself into messes like these? She shakes away the lingering desire of sleep, and pads over to her closet planning a go bag. 

“Gotham here I come,” she mutters, pitying whoever was so important to hold the possessive gaze of an al Ghul. She learnt, in the past few months, it could be an intense and dangerous place, if one was not careful. 

* * *

Damian stalks away from Jade’s room, turning to the small sitting area laying at the end of the corridor. No doubt both Cass and Rose woke from his earlier racket. Sure enough he arrives to find them both seated on the silk cushions scattering the floor. Rose drinks from a steaming ceramic cup, and Cass kneels, silent as ever, gazing at the wall until he approaches and her eyes shoot over, locking on his face. 

“Cheshire will depart at dawn,” he informs them. Rose freezes her cup halfway to her mouth. While Cass tilts her head, blinking. 

“What do you mean she’s leaving?” Rose shouts, her shoulders hunched up and angry. “Are you kicking her out? She’s done nothing wrong!”

Damian rolls his eyes. “I mean Cheshire is close to giving birth any day now. She shall be safer far from Grandfather and others who wish to harm her while she is in a disadvantaged state.” It’s actually a good reason, and he wants to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Rose opens her mouth to argue, but he glares. He will not bend on this.

Cass, tilts her head, and hesitantly brings up a hand, slowly trying to sign out a few letters. Damian watches patiently until she finishes.

_‘When will she come back?’_ Cass signs.

Despite the remains of furious rage bubbling in his viens Damian lets a small smile show on his face. It had been slow going but no one could ever say Cass was stupid. They’d been learning sign letters for six days and she already grasped it. 

_‘Don't know,’_ he signs back.

Rose frowns, huffing, unhappy at being ignored. “One of us should go with her.” 

“No, Ra’s will not allow that. I need you here. With Jade gone, we’re more vulnerable. She will function fine on her own.” He glares at her, unyielding, his decision is final and she should know it. .

Rose’s shoulders drop, and she nods. She takes another sip of her drink, but the worry in her eyes is clear. Cass tilts her head and he knows, she knows, he’s lying. But he doesn’t care, and she won’t ask. All that matters is ensuring Timothy's safety, and if he can not go himself, this will have to suffice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ya'll chapter 1-3 have gone through some heavy editing (thank you IcedAquarius) so I'd highly recommend rereading them if you haven't.
> 
> Thank you to IcedAquarius once more for betaing this chapter!
> 
> Hope everyone's safe and thank you for reading


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